run girl run, this world is not meant for you
by the little harlequin
Summary: Cops AU/AH. When rookie detective Caroline Forbes is passed over for a job in favour of the more experienced Klaus Mikaelson, she's understandably furious. However, she has little time to dwell on the situation when the murder of her best friend forces the two of them to team up, launching Caroline into an investigation that will have her questioning everything she's ever known.
1. Chapter 1

_I was going through my drafts when I found this and, after reading through it and tweaking it a little bit, I decided, 'hey, let's just publish this and see what kind of response it gets!' So - here it goes! c:_

_Warning: includes major character death._

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries._

:-:

Caroline Forbes was bored.

Sitting in the break room at work, she trawled through _E! Online_'s mobile website on her phone, while adhering to cop stereotypes everywhere as she ate a jelly doughnut. She finished her treat off, brushing away the powdered sugar from her jeans, just as she reached the end of the most recent article to catch her interest. It was another one critically analyzing—with painstaking attention to detail, she might add—Kim Kardashian's latest Instagram post and what it meant in regards to her relationship with Kanye.

Once again, rumors of an imminent break-up were circulating.

Blowing out a sigh, she glanced up at the clock on the wall, the hour hand at four while the minute hand inched around, impossibly slow, to one. Still another hour and a half to go, she thought wearily, rolling her eyes as she clicked onto another article—this time about Ryan Gosling as he promoted his upcoming movie.

It wasn't as though she didn't like her job—she _loved_ it. While most little girls dreamed about being princesses and supermodels in their youth, she had dreamed about yelling _'freeze, buster!'_ and throwing criminals behind bars, just like her Mom had done—while maybe, _perhaps_, being a princess part-time on the weekends. She worked hard to get where she was and she relished every second of being a cop—mostly. It was the slow days she hated, the days where she seemed to do nothing but chug down Matt's way-too-bitter coffee while typing up a multitude of case reports, waiting for something—_anything_—new to come in and distract her from the ever-growing tedium.

Unfortunately, in Mystic Falls, there was a lot of those days.

She got up from behind the break room table, personalized mug in hand as she went to refill it with coffee, stirring in about four teaspoonfuls of sugar before she deemed it anywhere near drinkable. The pink box from the bakery was still there, lid wide open to reveal the tempting goods inside, and she plucked another heavily glazed doughnut from within it. She had Zumba with Bonnie on Thursday—she could work it off then, she reminded herself, biting into the delicious confection without any further hesitation.

"Hey, Care," Matt poked his head in around the break room door, blond hair falling over his sparkling blue eyes, "Saltzman wants to see you in his office. ...Is that my doughnut?"

His gaze flickered accusingly from it to her. "No," she lied hastily, swallowing her current mouthful down thickly as he raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, "I'll bring you a box in tomorrow—I promise."

"You better," he shot back at her good-naturedly, his chiselled features dimpled by a wide smile, "Don't forget Saltzman."

"I won't," she assured him.

He disappeared then as he returned to his desk, the door shutting gently behind him. Caroline sucked in a deep breath and, using her phone screen as a makeshift mirror, checked her appearance quickly. She straightened the lapels of her grey fitted blazer and, with her thumb, wiped away the mark of powdered sugar that had accumulated at the corner of her mouth.

With green eyes and a winning smile, she was undeniably pretty and, contrary to widespread opinion, it actually worked for her in a job like this. No one ever suspected the perky blonde at the frat party to be the undercover cop until the ecstasy had already been revealed and, suddenly, she was telling you to _'put your hands behind your back'_ and was reading you your Miranda rights—all while her quarterback lookalike of a partner called it into the station.

Leaving the break room, she made her way straight to the captain's office, her heart thumping, in loud staccato rhythm, against her rib cage. Captain Alaric Saltzman was, inarguably, one of the greats. He worked alongside her Mom in the 90s, gaining local and even some national fame when he successfully caught the Council Killer—a disgruntled Mystic Falls citizen who had, for a whole year, systemically picked off and murdered the members of the Town Council for supposedly failing them all in their duties. It had been all anyone had ever talked about when she was a kid, stealing every headline and seeping almost unfailingly into daily conversations.

She remembered thinking what an honor it was to finally get the chance to work with him when she had first joined the force—fresh out of the law enforcement academy and filled with anticipation for her career ahead—even blurting out as much to him, over a handshake, when they had first met as employer and employee. In the three years that had followed her first day, her admiration of him had never once wavered or dimmed—not even in the slightest.

Pausing palpably at his open door, she rapped the wood slightly with her knuckles, "Uh, you wanted to see me, sir?" she asked him, lips curved into a polite smile.

Captain Saltzman glanced up from his paperwork at the sound of her arrival, "Forbes, yes, come in and please just close the door behind you," he said, beckoning her inside with a brief wave of his hand.

"Okay," she nodded, doing as he'd asked.

"Take a seat," he gestured to the worn empty chair that stood in front of his desk and she slipped into it, hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.

She watched as he inhaled a deep breath and, in that moment, her nerves got the better of her as she said, all in one rushed exhale of a breath, "You're not about to fire me, are you?"

Saltzman's brow furrowed in confusion, "What? No," he replied, shaking his head and she couldn't help the sigh of relief that fell from her lips, "No, I called you in here to actually talk to you about the possibility of a promotion."

"A promotion?" she echoed him, her interest sufficiently piqued.

"Yes—well, as you know, we find ourselves in need of a new Detective Sergeant now that Thompson's retired and I wanted to know if you thought that maybe you'd be able to handle the position?"

Her eyes went wide, "Oh, my God, _seriously_?" she exclaimed, her voice edging dangerously close to an excited squeal.

"Well, yes. We did consider outside hiring but when we tried to contact the only guy who showed any interest in the job, he never got back to us. So what do you think?" he said, levelling her with a serious gaze, "Do you think you're up to the task?"

"Yes, sir! Oh, my God, thank you, _thank you_—you will _not_ regret this!" In her enthusiasm, she leapt to her feet, arms already spread wide when she froze uncertainly, "Would it be totally inappropriate if I hugged you right now?"

"Probably, yes," he remarked, though with an amused smile playing in the corner of his mouth.

She nodded, allowing her arms to fall to her sides as she opted for a handshake instead, "Thank you, sir," she said again breathlessly, "You have no idea how much this means to me. I can't wait to call my Mom and tell her."

"About that, Forbes. I'm gonna have to ask you to hold off on telling anyone just yet. At least not until it's officially announced tomorrow morning," he told her.

"Oh, yes. Of course," she bobbed her head in agreement.

"Alright then, I think that's all we have to discuss here—unless you want to ask me anything?" he arched a questioning eyebrow at her and she shook her head, "No problem—dismissed, Forbes."

She left his office with a grin etched onto her features—one that Matt asked her about as soon as she slid into the swivel chair by the desk opposite his, "No reason," she replied with feigned nonchalance before, glancing around her, she dropped her voice to an excited whisper, "You'll find out tomorrow morning."

Moving her mouse, her computer sprung to life—the black screen shifting to reveal her desktop background. One of her favourite photographs stared back at her - a holiday snap of her and her two best friends, Bonnie Bennett and Elena Gilbert, all huddled together on the beach and nursing fruity cocktails. She smiled faintly at the sight of it, unlocking her phone as she prepared to text them both her news despite what Captain Saltzman had said. But, come on, these were her BFFs, her besties, her amigos—he could hardly expect her to keep it from _them_.

When half past five finally rolled around, Caroline shut off her computer and smiled over at Matt, "Any big plans for tonight?" she asked him.

Ducking his head coyly, he exhaled a quiet laugh, "Yeah—a date actually," he replied, shrugging into his coat.

"Wow, way to go Matt," she grinned, "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Uh—April Young. Yeah, Jer introduced us a couple of weeks ago. She seems pretty cool," Matt said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug, though there was a definite pinkish tinge to his cheeks.

"Awww, well, good luck. Let me know how it goes," Caroline added, with a saucy wink as the two of them walked out of the main office.

"What about you? Anything exciting planned?" he asked her in return, pushing the button that would summon the elevator.

"Well, Tyler's out tonight so I think I'm gonna grab some take-out, throw on my comfiest sweats and marathon something on Netflix. You know, have some me time. I might actually get around to catching up on _Grey's Anatomy_ tonight," she replied, a blissful look overcoming her features as she anticipated her night of relaxation.

The elevator gave a soft _ding! _sound, the doors sliding open as a cool mechanical voice announced: _'Second floor.'_ A man was already in the elevator, gaze locked on his (by the look of it) extremely expensive, state-of-the-art cell phone. He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a black wool trench coat, a collection of beaded necklaces hanging from his neck. When he realized that the elevator had come to a stop, he glanced up to reveal stormy blue eyes as he gazed at something behind them.

His shoulder brushed against Caroline's as they passed each other—him leaving the elevator, while she was just about to get on. "Sorry, love," he said, the words carried over to her by a smooth British accent.

"Who was that?" Matt wondered aloud as the elevator doors slid shut, hiding the stranger from sight.

"New tech guy, maybe?" Caroline offered with a shrug, as she leaned over him to press the button for the ground floor.

When they reached the parking lot, they said their goodbyes and parted, Caroline slipping into her 2011 Ford Fiesta with ease. Catching a glimpse of Matt reversing from his own space behind her, she spared him a final wave in the rear-view mirror. She twisted her keys in the ignition and the engine roared to life before dying to a gentle purr. The Taylor Swift CD she'd been listening to on the way into work started up at the same time the car did, picking up where it left off and she hummed along cheerily to the chorus of _Blank Space_.

A bubble of excitement swelled up inside her as she glanced back at the station. She couldn't believe it. She had just finished her last official shift as a detective. From here on out, she would be Detective Sergeant Caroline Forbes.

And she couldn't wait.

:-:

Caroline bit her lip and smiled when she heard her phone chime from inside her pocket, the elevator doors of her apartment building sliding shut behind her. Balancing her box of pizza (barbecue chicken and green peppers) in her left hand, she fished her cell out of her jeans and typed back a hurried reply to her boyfriend, Tyler.

God, she loved how that sounded. Tyler, her boyfriend. Her boyfriend—Tyler. The two of them had been high school sweethearts (Homecoming King and Queen, Prom King and Queen, Cutest Couple of the Class of '07—you get the idea) but they'd drifted apart once college hit. He'd gone on to semi-seriously date a Wiccan in the year above them (Liv... something) whereas she'd attempted to find herself, working hard and staying single—for the most part. There had been that six-month-long no-strings-attached deal she'd worked out with Enzo, a fellow student in her psych classes. It had been fun—brief, but intense. She would never have anticipated any sort of reunion ever happening between her and Tyler, until, one day, they had stumbled into each other in the town square, a chance meeting which had, of course, led to a drink in the Grill and then to an offer of dinner—all climaxing in sex on the fur rug of his prime location apartment.

And since then, they'd gone back to dating. Going strong for almost ten months now. She had to admit, she was proud of them.

Exhaling a quiet laugh, she texted back a smiley face, accompanied by a wish that he _'have fun'_ and a mock-warning that he better not have _'too much fun._' Some of his old college football teammates had blown through town, dropping in to pay him a visit (read: get rip-roaringly drunk on beers down at the Grill while laughing about the good old days), leaving Caroline alone in her apartment with only her large pizza and her jumbo stick of garlic bread for company. And Chace Crawford, if she decided to continue with her _Gossip Girl _marathon.

She came to a stop in front of her apartment and, rummaging in her bag for a moment, caught her keys in her right hand. The CCTV camera for her floor, stationed right by her door, swivelled around to catch her on tape, its red light blinking ominously. She lifted her gaze up to it and spared it a brilliant smile.

Her apartment was dark, her curtains still drawn from where she'd forgotten to open them that morning, sufficiently blocking out any glimmer of street light from filtering in. She sighed, rolling her eyes as she groped around blindly for the light switch, while trying her best not to drop any of her food.

She froze when she heard the unmistakable creak of a floorboard.

Her hand flew to her hip where her standard-issue gun was holstered. She sucked in a deep breath, preparing to shout curses and warnings when, suddenly—

"SURPRISE!"

Caroline's eyes widened, blinking rapidly as light suddenly filled her apartment, illuminating the twin grins of Bonnie Bennett and Elena Gilbert, as they each took in her sufficiently shocked expression. She gasped, her hand coming up to her mouth as she exhaled a delighted—if albeit startled—laugh, kicking the door shut behind her.

"You guys!" she cried, taking a step further into her apartment and dumping the pizza onto the kitchen counter, "What are you doing here?"

"Duh! We're here to celebrate your promotion!" Elena beamed, wrapping her arms around Caroline's shoulders in a congratulatory hug.

Caroline beamed, squeezing Elena back before her gaze grew suddenly serious as they broke apart, her eyes flickering between her two best friends, "You _do_ know I haven't actually got it yet, right?"

"Yeah, but you _basically_ have," Bonnie chipped in, with a knowing smile as she rooted through Caroline's cupboards for glasses, "Captain Saltzman _did_ say the job was kind of already yours, right?"

"Well... yeah," Caroline admitted, a smile slowly returning to her features.

"Well, there you go!" Bonnie laughed, pulling the blonde into a gleeful one-armed embrace, "Just think, Elena—our best friend is Mystic Falls' own Detective Sergeant Caroline Forbes!"

Elena giggled, before going on to gesture at the array of treats they'd taken the liberty of laying out on top of her kitchen table, "We've already stocked up on all the things we need for a fabulous girls' night in—Chinese food, wine, chocolate..."

"The works," Bonnie summarised neatly as she uncorked a bottle of red wine and began pouring it generously into three huge wine glasses.

Caroline smiled at her friends, green eyes bright with affection, "You guys are the best," she exclaimed happily, throwing her arms around them both as she drew them into a group embrace.

"We know," Bonnie and Elena chorused laughingly.

As Bonnie excused herself to the bathroom, Caroline and Elena began unpacking the box of Chinese food at the kitchen counter. Taking a sip of quick sip of wine, Caroline opened one of the cartons and stole a prawn from the portion of chow mein—Elena's dish of choice.

The other girl raised her eyebrow, "I saw that," she said, with a good-natured smirk.

"Don't worry—I'll let you have some of my sweet and sour chicken to compensate," Caroline replied, with a wink.

Caroline watched as her friend's smile slipped just a fraction, though still her eyes were bright when she asked, "How are things going with you and Tyler?"

"Pretty good," Caroline nodded; at Elena's probing stare, she elaborated, "OK, _really _good. Tyler's really sweet and he's matured a lot since high school. How's Stefan?"

"Yeah, he's good," Elena replied, though Caroline detected a lacklustre quality to her response.

Reaching out a hand, she touched the other girl's shoulder gently, "Elena, are you—?"

At that moment, a door opened and Bonnie emerged from the bathroom, accepting the glass of wine Caroline offered her with a grin, "So," she asked her friends, "Have you guys decided what we're watching?"

"_Grey's_?" Elena asked them, her gaze flashing questioningly from Caroline to Bonnie and then back again.

Bonnie and Caroline shared a look, "_Grey_'s," they agreed in unison.

Four hours later, as the clock neared eleven, Caroline was incredibly happy, nestled in between her two best friends on the couch, her stomach full of Chinese food and pizza, while Patrick Dempsey and Ellen Pompeo saved lives in Seattle on the TV. As the end credits to the current episode rolled, and Netflix prepared to continue onto the next one, counting down the seconds, the chime of a phone going off caused all three of them to check their cells.

"It's me," Elena said, after a moment, a cloud of worry descending over her dark brown eyes as she read the message hurriedly.

"Everything OK?" Bonnie asked her, her brow crinkled down in concern as she replaced her wine glass on a coaster on the coffee table.

"Yeah," Elena replied quickly, after a slight delay; she blinked, a smile coming over her features as she rolled her eyes in mild exasperation, "Jeremy just wants me to pick him some stuff up from the store. I better go before it closes."

She stood hastily, grabbing her purse and jacket from where she'd slung them over the back of the couch earlier, "I'll talk to you guys tomorrow," she said before adding, with a tiny half-smile: "Try not to get too far ahead in _Grey's _without me."

"What does Jer need? I might have it here and then maybe you could stay for a little while longer," Caroline suggested, a hopeful gleam in her eye.

"No, it's OK. I should be going now anyway—I've got a big day at work tomorrow," Elena said, forcing on a bright smile, "But tonight was really fun, it was. I'm so glad we were able to do it!"

"Me too, but—_hey!_—we're all still on for dinner on Friday—right?" Caroline called after her, glancing quickly at Bonnie, who nodded in confirmation, before returning her gaze to Elena who was nearing the door, one hand already outstretched and resting on the handle.

"Of course! And I'll be expecting to hear all about your amazing new job then, too," she replied, tipping the blonde a happy wink and opening the door, "Love you guys."

"Love you, too!" Bonnie and Caroline returned in unison, as the door closed gently behind their friend.

A beat passed between them, in which they listened to Elena's footsteps fade into silence, before Caroline turned sharply in her seat to look at Bonnie, her top teeth worrying her bottom lip anxiously, "OK—was it just me, or was she acting _really_ weird?"

"It wasn't just you," Bonnie assured her, chewing contemplatively on a salsa-laden tortilla chip as she stared briefly at the door Elena had just left through.

"Well, what do you think it is?" Caroline asked, her eyebrows raised, "Work stress? Did she and Stefan have a fight or something? _What?_"

"She didn't say anything to me but..." Bonnie remarked quietly before shaking her head and reaching out a hand to place comfortingly on Caroline's arm, "Don't worry about it—we'll just arrange to talk to her tomorrow and, together, we'll get to the bottom of it."

"OK, that sounds like a good plan," Caroline agreed, nodding, her eyes darting to Bonnie's empty wine glass while the effects of her own alcohol consumption buzzed pleasantly through her veins, "You can stay at mine tonight, by the way."

Bonnie's eyes followed Caroline's gaze, flickering from the glass to the two empty wine bottles and, then, finally to her friend, "Thank God," she sighed, the words intermingled with a relieved laugh, "I don't think I'm in _any_ shape to drive home tonight."

"It's OK," Caroline giggled, before sighing wistfully at the TV screen, "Oh, my God, McDreamy is just _so beautiful_."

:-:

Caroline awoke the next morning with the worst headache. _Too much wine_, she groaned, groping around blindly for her cell phone. Rubbing the lingering sleep from her eyes, she waited until her vision focused before she read the time.

8.30AM.

_Crap!_ First day of a new job and she was going to be hungover _and_ late. Perfect start. She showered quickly, throwing her hair up into a quick ponytail and dressing in a floral print dress and jean jacket. A touch of gloss across her lips and a sweep of mascara over her eyelashes and she was ready to go.

In her lounge, she saw that Bonnie had already left, the blanket she'd borrowed folded at one end of the couch with the pillow placed neatly on top of it. At least she'd made coffee, Caroline noted, pouring some from the glass pot into her hot pink travel mug. Taking a sip, she almost spluttered when she checked her watch. She _really_ had to get a move on.

To her credit, she pulled into the station in decent enough time, even managing to stop at the bakery on the way there to pick up another half a dozen doughnuts for Matt. Getting into the elevator at work, she drained the rest of the coffee in her travel mug and checked her phone. There was already a text from Bonnie, wishing her luck on her first day in her new position, and she replied to it with an amused grin, expressing her hope that her friend wasn't _too _hungover from the night before. Slipping her cell back into her bag, she surmised that she was only a _little_hurt that she hadn't received a similar message from Elena.

The elevator doors slid open, the mechanical voice announcing her arrival on the second floor, and she strode, purposeful and confident, into the main office. This was the first day of the rest of her life. She was Detective Sergeant Caroline Forbes and she was on her way to the—

"... and I hope that we can all work well together."

Caroline stumbled to a halt at the sound of a new voice. Her brow furrowed when she saw the man she and Matt had met coming out of the elevator the day before standing in the center of the room, her co-workers gathered around him and listening to whatever he had to say with rapt attention. There was even a sprinkling of mild applause when he finished. _What? _As the door swung shut behind her, he turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised and the corner of his mouth plucked up into something resembling a smirk.

"You must be Caroline," he said to her and she bristled unconsciously.

"I am," she replied slowly, moving to her desk where she dumped her empty travel mug and the bakery box full of doughnuts; she regarded him with a cool gaze, one perfectly-shaped eyebrow arched and her arms folded defensively across her chest, "And you are?"

"Klaus Mikaelson," he said, taking a step towards her and reaching out a hand, "I'm your new detective sergeant."

Her cool exterior thawed, giving way to the fiery prickle of shock and betrayal, "What?!" Caroline demanded, wide eyes flashing past him to where Captain Saltzman stood in the entryway to his office, his hands in his pockets.

"Forbes... _Caroline_," Saltzman called to her, surprising her with the use of her first name, "Can I see you in my office for a moment, please?"

She exhaled a breath of a laugh and shook her head, "Sure," she replied, marching past him.

"Everyone else, get back to work!" Saltzman boomed, before he turned back into his office and closed the door behind him, "Take a seat, Forbes."

Caroline dragged her eyes from where some award was hung up on the wall to look at him, her expression stony, "No, thank you, captain. I think I'll stand," she retorted, her foul mood rendering her tone snappish, "I thought you said that job was going to be mine."

The captain exhaled a deep breath as he eased himself into his own chair, and massaged a spot just above his left eyebrow, "It _was_, but... do you remember I told you that we were considering outside hiring as well?" he told her and she nodded carefully.

"But you said the guy never called back," she countered.

"And he didn't," Saltzman replied, his hands clasped, white-knuckled, on the desk in front of him, "Until last night. He paid me a visit here after you all had left and said he'd like to take up the job. You have to understand, Forbes, he has more experience than half the people in this station—he's been working in this field for almost ten years and he's solved some very high-profile cases in his time."

She snorted delicately at that, unable to help herself, just as the door behind her opened and her current worst enemy—_Klaus Mikaelson_, _what kind of name was that even?_—walked inside because apparently knocking had gone out of fashion since yesterday. He stood in the captain's office, hands clasped behind his back, looking deceptively innocent in a pair of jeans and a grey Henley, but there was an overly confident—no, _arrogant_—way about him and he carried himself as if he owned the place. Which, she supposed, might just be the case in the not-too-faraway future. After all, he'd already stolen her job after only a single conversation - she wouldn't be surprised if he already had his eyes on the captain's.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," he interjected, his features having adopted a decidedly smug expression as he glanced between her and the captain.

"You are," she retorted, with a mirthless smile, as she regarded him coldly, "But you know where the door is."

"_Forbes_," Saltzman cut in warningly, raising a pointed eyebrow at her and making her feel very much like a scolded six-year-old, "This is Niklaus Mikaelson, formerly of Chicago's Homicide Division. You might have heard of him in the press."

Caroline had. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew who he was. He'd been the lead detective on a number of different cases that had made up some pretty major worldwide headlines. It made her wonder, though, why someone of his renown, who could have basically any job he wanted just by clicking his fingers and announcing, _'I'm here!'_, would take up a position in somewhere as decidedly small-town as Mystic Falls.

"Mikaelson, this is Caroline Forbes—one of the best detectives we have here," Saltzman was saying, the sound of her own name pulling her from her reverie as he gestured to her with a wave of his hand, "She comes from a long line of cops."

"Well, let's hope she lives up to their reputation," Mikaelson said, his gaze never wavering from her, and she felt her hands shake with anger.

She was just about to open her mouth and tell him that just because she wasn't some detective known across thirty five of the fifty states _did not _mean that she wasn't a good cop—and who was he _even _to suggest that of her, after only knowing her for all of five minutes—when Saltzman's phone rang. All three of them glanced over to it, the captain answering it on the second ring.

"Saltzman," he greeted whoever was on the other end curtly.

Caroline made to leave, to give him some privacy while he was on a call, but when she saw that Mikaelson hadn't moved, she stood firm also, her hands balling into determined fists. She kept her gaze firmly on her shoes, while Mikaelson continued to look at her—his blue eyes scorching as they seemed to burn into her and she knew he was sizing her up, _assessing _her. He was probably one of those sexist guys who had already jumped to all the _wrong_ conclusions the minute he saw her.

At least there was one upside if he planned to stick around here, in Mystic Falls—she could prove him wrong on each and every one of those.

There was a click as Saltzman hung up the phone and he raised his eyes to regard them both gravely, "A body's been found in the alleyway behind the Grill. Female, mid-twenties," he said and Caroline felt her heart twist, but she swallowed hard—she had to be professional about this, "I want you both to check it out."

"Right away, sir," Caroline replied, nodding.

:-:

The area around the Mystic Grill was abuzz with activity. Civilians craned their necks in interest, while reporters for _The Mystic Falls Daily_ milled about, looking for the latest scoop as they yelled questions to the two uniformed police officers that had already been called to the scene to keep order. Mikaelson pushed his way through the crowd with a practised ease while Caroline followed behind him, in the clear path that was already left in his wake. She would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. The last murder case she'd seen had been almost two years ago—a mugging gone wrong.

"Caroline," one of the uniformed officers approached her, his expression decidedly grim as he lifted the yellow police tape for her and Mikaelson to duck under.

"Rick, hey. What have we got?" Caroline asked, her heart thundering in her ears.

"Well, female in her mid-twenties. Definite head wound, though we're not sure if that's what killed her," Rick replied, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants; his eyes flashed briefly to Mikaelson as he left their conversation, moving towards the body that was already shrouded by a white sheet, "One of the girls who worked here found her this morning when she was opening up."

"OK, thanks," Caroline replied, nodding as she attempted to process the information, "See what you and Shane can do about this crowd, would you, please?"

"Yeah, sure thing," Rick replied, beckoning his partner over.

Sucking in a deep breath, she walked over to where Mikaelson was stooped beside the body, his fingers already furled around the end of the sheet. Caroline braced herself as he prepared to lift it away, a guttural sound—caught somewhere between a sob and a scream—falling from her lips when he did.

Female. Mid-twenties.

It was Elena.

:-:

_Dun, dun, dunnnnn._

_So, there was the first chapter and, I guess, just let me know what you thought? As always, reviews are loved! c:_


	2. Chapter 2

_So, my exams are finished and, while I anxiously await my results, I can throw myself back into my writing. Yay! c:_

_I also just want to say a big thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited this fic so far - you are all amazing and it means a lot! _

_Warning: This fic deals with the death of a major character._

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries._

* * *

_This couldn't be happening._

Caroline swayed dangerously. She took a stumbling step backwards, boots pounding heavily against the concrete ground, her stomach rolling. It felt as though someone had knocked the air completely from her lungs; for a moment, she was certain she might faint. Mikaelson lifted his gaze from the corpse—_from Elena_—to glance up at her, his brow furrowed in a look that was caught somewhere between confusion and annoyance, and she knew what he must be thinking.

_Typical rookie cop, can't even handle a murder scene._

He arched an eyebrow up at her, eyes flitting to the morbidly curious crowd a few paces behind her, confined by yellow police tape, before returning to her face, "Are you all right?" he hissed up at her. The question seemed void of any concern, more an insult to her professionalism than anything else, but she found that—in that moment—she didn't even care what he thought because, oh God, that was _Elena_.

"I know her," she choked out eventually, shaking her head as she felt tears well up in her green eyes, blurring her vision, "Oh, my God—_I know her_. She's... She's my best friend—_Elena_..."

As her admission broke the air, and the first of her tears started to fall, despite her attempts to suppress them, Mikaelson straightened instantly, the white sheet settling back into place and hiding Elena from view. Caroline's knees were shaking and, vaguely through the ringing in her ears, she could hear reporters from _The Mystic Falls Daily_ lobbing questions at them at a furious rate. Almost imperceptibly, Mikaelson made a sharp hand gesture, flicking his wrist as he beckoned Rick over from where he and Shane were doing their best to disperse the steadily-gathering crowd.

"Take. Her. Home." Mikaelson barked the order out at him through gritted teeth.

Rick looked taken aback by the abruptness of the command, but a quick sideways glance at Caroline confirmed its necessity. Caroline, herself, could feel its necessity as she slipped further into her grief, bile rising dangerously in the back of her throat. He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her back to reality as he led her under the yellow tape, doing his utmost to shield her from the prying eyes of story-hungry reporters.

Many of them knew her by name and, as she buckled herself into the front seat of Rick's squad car, she could hear them yelling over to her, demanding answers she could not give. In response, she did her best to remain stony-faced in her silence as Rick slid into the driver's seat and fired up the ignition.

His disgust was palpable as he shot a disdainful look back at the swarming crowd, "Fuckin' vultures," he muttered low under his breath.

Caroline barely registered his words, waiting until the car drove off and everyone fell out of sight, before—her face falling into her hands with a sob—she allowed herself to fully succumb to her grief.

:-:

She couldn't go home, not to the place where Elena potentially spent the last few hours of her life—before cold, merciless hands had snatched it from her. She didn't want to be alone, sitting in silence as she waited for the news to break and her cell phone to light up with text after call, call after text from Bonnie, Tyler, her Mom. So, she convinced Rick to take her back to the station, where she could be around people and—as her grief turned to anger, leaving her determined to catch the fucker who did it—play whatever role she could in the ongoing investigation.

When she entered the station, pale-faced with her eyes rimmed red, it didn't take her long to realise that the news had already reached her co-workers, along with a positive identification that the body did, indeed, belong to twenty-six-year-old, second grade teacher, Elena Gilbert. Matt stood as she passed him, one hand reaching out to her, while Saltzman, upon seeing her, ended the call he was on immediately and rushed out of his office to meet her.

"Forbes," he greeted her uncertainly, voice tinged heavily with sympathy; his features were grim as he sighed softly and said, "I just heard. If I'd have known... I'd never have sent you out there like that."

"Thank you, captain," she said, granting him the tiniest hint of a grateful smile before, suddenly, her mask of professionalism fell back over her features, "I'm gonna need a room. And a board. I need to set up a timeline, then I'll start piecing together all that I know of Ele—of the deceased's relationships with all our potential suspects."

For a long moment, Saltzman just stared at her in bemusement and then he blinked once, his brow furrowing in confusion, "What the hell are you saying, Forbes? The last thing you should be doing—today, of all days—is working and especially _not_ on this case. You should go home, take as long as you need to rest and just be with your family, your friends. We can handle this."

"No," Caroline replied abruptly, shaking her head obstinately. She had expected as much on the way over and there was _no way_ she was taking any of it, "With all due respect, sir, you sent me out there. You made this my case and I fully intend to see it through until we find the bastard who did this."

"_You knew the victim. _Even if I wanted to give you this case, I couldn't do it," he shot back, folding his arms across his chest and regarding her with a cool, pragmatic gaze, "Your personal ties to it might cloud your judgement. I'm sorry, Forbes."

"Mystic Falls is a small town, sir. I mean, who here—out of any of us—can honestly say they didn't know the victim in some way?" Caroline countered, gesturing briefly to the people in the station, many of whom—she knew—had gone through high school with Elena or, at the very least, had seen her at some sort of town function one time or another; Saltzman opened his mouth to protest again, but she cut him off swiftly, "And, yes, I know she was my best friend but—when you think about it—it gives me an edge. Captain, I know everything there is—" she faltered, swallowing discreetly before she allowed herself to continue, "_was_ to know about her—I can help you solve this, I know it. Just—_please_, just give me a chance. I owe it to her, sir, I owe it to Elena."

For a single minute—Caroline counted up each second in her head, as they dragged past agonizingly slow—there was nothing but an extended silence. Captain Saltzman was looking at her as though an entirely new light had been shed over her and she matched his stare, unwaveringly. She was not prepared to lose this, she thought, her heart hammering, wild and relentless, in her left breast. Eventually, though, he exhaled a sigh and, in his eyes, she could see some of his world-famous resolve start to crumble.

"You make a good argument, Forbes, I'll give you that," he admitted to her, "OK, you can take the case _but _the minute I think it's getting too much for you, I'm pulling you out of it, understand?"

Caroline let go of the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding before nodding quickly to his terms and conditions: "Yes, sir, I promise I won't let you down."

"Very good," Saltzman replied, gesturing off to the side, "You can take the room in the back there to set everything up. Listen up, people," he added, raising his voice so as to draw the attention of all those who hadn't been eavesdropping in on their conversation, "The key to this thing is containment. Newspapers are gonna be calling in. Talk shows, too. But, despite what they say, all they know is that there was a body found outside the Mystic Grill. Don't give _anything_ else away to _anyone_. Do, and you're fired—got that?"

"Yes, sir," was the readily-given response.

"Good," Saltzman gave them all a collective nod before he returned his attention to Caroline, "I'm going to go inform Dr. and Mrs. Gilbert of what's happened. From there, it'll be up to them just how much we're allowed to release to the media. I should be back in a few hours, but don't expect me back any time before then. This is gonna be a difficult ride, Forbes—I just hope to God we're up to it."

:-:

Almost as soon as the captain left, Caroline retreated into the back room he'd granted her, barely even stopping by her desk where she knew Elena's face would be smiling up at her from the photo on her screensaver. It had been taken only a year ago, their flights for this year's summer vacation—a week-long girls' trip to Cabo for her, Bonnie and Elena—already booked for the last week in July. They'd have to cancel those, she thought to herself quietly.

Most of her morning, she occupied herself with piecing together a timeline of Elena's last day, from her morning at work in Mystic Falls' Elementary to the evening she had spent at Caroline's own apartment, probably only an hour—maybe less—before she had been killed. The thought, a sickening blow that almost knocked the wind out of her, made Caroline shiver and she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to remain strong and carry on. _For Elena_, she though resiliently. The grief and the tears would come—it was a painful inevitability—but only after the person who did this was rotting away in a jail cell.

All of her co-workers had, despite their no doubt rampant curiosity (this was their first murder case in almost a year and a half after all), tacitly avoided her as she worked, though, occasionally, she couldn't help but notice them sneaking furtive glances into the room when they could, in the hopes that they might catch a glimpse of something juicy on her investigation board. She sent them all away with a dismissive glare, one eyebrow raised sharply. Even Matt—who's company she actually wouldn't have minded, he probably knowing better than anyone what she was going through (that murder case a year and a half ago? His older sister: Vikki Donovan)—was also staying clear of her, dropping in on her only once around lunch time to leave off a chicken salad sandwich, a Diet Coke and his heartfelt sympathies.

"You know I'm always here if you need to talk, Care," he said to her quietly, his brow furrowed down in concern as she thumbed through a file.

She smiled up at him weakly from where she sat, cross-legged, on the floor—a small but nonetheless grateful twitch of the lips, "I know, Matt—thank you."

Two hours after that, the chicken salad sandwich had only one bite taken out of it, any thought of food pushed to the side in favour of work, work and more work. Captain Saltzman arrived back around three, a frown engraved deeply into his features when he came to check up on her. For the first time in a long time, he looked weary. Mikaelson was still out, he'd told her—he was dusting through the crime scene with forensics for any sign of a fingerprint or a stray hair—while the Gilberts had allowed the identity of the body to break to the media in the hopes that someone—somewhere—might be encouraged to speak up. Caroline bit her lip—it would be only a matter of time before her phone blew up.

Unsurprisingly, it was the main story on the five o'clock news. Whereas normally, at that time, people in the station would be packing up to go home, chatting to each other about the evenings they had planned, that night take-out from the local Chinese had been ordered in and a large group of people gathered around to watch the segment on the station's outdated television set. Caroline emerged long enough from her work room to watch too, hanging back as she leaned against the doorway, her arms folded across her chest as she raised her gaze over a sea of heads; her cell phone felt like a weight in her pocket.

"Our top story tonight, folks: a shocking crime has rocked our small town," WPKW9's star anchor, Logan Fell's handsome face was serious as he frowned out at his viewers, "The body of one Elena Marie Gilbert was found in the early hours of this morning in the alleyway behind local restaurant and bar, the Mystic Grill. Strongly suspected to be a homicide, the police—so far—have no leads. When asked earlier about the case, famed veteran of the detective force, Captain Alaric Saltzman, had this to say."

The image shifted away from that of the news studio to the captain—when he had visited the crime scene himself that afternoon—a light breeze ruffling his hair as he looked into the camera, eyebrows knitted down in a grim expression, "All I will say is this, we have some of our best detectives working on this case and we will do our utmost to find the person responsible and secure justice for the grieving family. I urge anyone, if they have any information at all that might be useful, to step forward. You never know, it could make all the difference," he finished before holding up a hand to the camera and adding, with a note of finality: "No further questions."

Logan Fell filled the screen again, clearing his throat and straightening his tie all in a split-second before he fixed with camera with a penetrating stare, "Powerful words, indeed from Captain Saltzman. The police have also asked us to disclose a number which you can call if you happen to have any tips regarding this terrible crime, it should be on the bottom of the screen for you now. I think I speak for everyone when I say, if you do have any information—no matter how small—please don't hesitate to call. Your tip could be the one between solving this case and not."

Fell spared the camera a serious stare before, in the fleeting moment it took him to shuffle the papers on his desk, he moved swiftly onto the second story of the night. "Great, a tip line," Caroline heard someone grumble and she glanced over to see one of the more senior detectives, Luka Martin, twirling noodles around his plastic fork as he spoke, "We're gonna get every weirdo and wackjob in the whole town calling in now."

Caroline gritted her teeth and turned then, disappearing back into her makeshift office, the door closing behind her with a resounding click. Her phone started buzzing in her pocket and she pulled it out, frowning down at it as Bonnie's caller ID flashed up at her; biting her bottom lip, she hastily jabbed at the ignore button. She couldn't face dealing with that now—not here, at the station, where she had so many curious eyes on her. Almost as soon as the caller ID was gone, texts began to pop up, pinging urgently with each new message.

Her fingers moving wildly, she tapped out a hasty response: _'I heard. I can't talk right now, though. I'm still at work. Will speak soon, love you xo.' _

And with that, she turned her phone off just as Bonnie tried calling her again and, with trembling fingers, she reached up to tuck the loose locks of hair behind her ears, keeping them away from her face. Planting her hands on her hips, she focused, for a moment, on the act of simply breathing. In and out, in and out. She couldn't risk falling apart now—the stakes were too high. There was no way she was losing this case.

In an effort to distract herself, she focused on all she had achieved—her timeline was almost complete (she just needed Mikaelson to come back from forensics with a time of death) and she had already started making a mental list of all those she needed to interview. Matt was already out now, crossing one off her list for her as he paid a visit to the principal of Mystic Falls' Elementary in an attempt to gain some insight into Elena's work life.

From outside, on the station's main floor, she heard a sudden surge in interested chatter and she turned, in confusion, peering out to see Mikaelson walking towards the captain's office, a determined edge to his stride. Yanking open the door to her workspace, she met him halfway, her arms folded across her chest as she arched a questioning eyebrow up at him. In her peripheral vision, she could see Saltzman standing in the doorway to his office, watching the beginnings of their exchange warily.

"Well, what did you find?" she demanded shortly in lieu of a proper greeting.

Mikaelson looked taken aback by her presence—a fact she couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit smug about—but he recovered quickly, blinking once as his features adopted a frown, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Working a case," she replied and then, without missing a beat, she reiterated: "What did you find?"

His response was a mirthless laugh exhaled sharply from between his teeth, "You can't possibly work this case—you're too close to it," he retorted, simply, sparing her a disparaging look, "My advice? Do what I originally told you to do and _go home_. Let us handle this."

He made to push past her, but she matched his step expertly and blocked his path, "Newsflash: you're not the boss of me," she spat back at him, her words punctuated by a well-timed scoff.

"Actually, sweetheart, I kind of am," Mikaelson shot back at her and Caroline's green eyes widened, blazing with no uncertain amount of cold fury.

That was when Saltzman stepped in, placing one large hand on Caroline's shoulder while holding the other up to Mikaelson, "Let's take this _off_ the main floor, shall we?" he ordered rather than asked, ushering them both into the room Caroline had been working in all day.

"What is all this?" Mikaelson demanded, gesturing to Caroline's investigation board, as Saltzman shut the door behind them, effectively sealing them off from the prying eyes of their co-workers.

Caroline rounded on him, hands on her hips and retorted promptly, "It's a timeline of Elena's last day, which I put together using the access I have to her private Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts." She couldn't help the return of the smugness as it seeped, unconsciously, into her tone—she had to prove herself capable.

"What's this one?" Mikaelson asked, pointing to the last entry: _26 Fell's Church Street, Apartment 19_, and Caroline froze, recognizing it instantly.

"That's my apartment," Caroline explained, keeping her voice even while also meeting their inquisitive stares, "Elena and our other friend, Bonnie Bennett, were over last night for a few hours."

Mikaelson's eyes flickered briefly to the captain as he ran a hand over his chin, "Forensics put the time of death around midnight to two in the morning," he remarked, folding his arms across his chest, "Are you telling me that you are, quite possibly, one of the two people to last see Miss Gilbert alive?"

"You didn't tell me that, Forbes," Saltzman interjected in a low voice, something that sounded oddly—_painfully_—like betrayal colouring his tone.

"What was she doing there?" Mikaelson asked, glaring down at Caroline.

She sucked in a deep breath—uneasy with the interrogatory turn this meeting had taken. Did they seriously think...? _No_. She could never. Still she answered without hesitating, "We were celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

This time she did pause—and noticeably too. An embarrassed flush heated the nape of her neck, threatening to spill out onto her cheeks, especially when she cast a sideways glance at Mikaelson, because—honestly—what was she supposed to say that didn't involve her coming off as a pathetic idiot? _'We were celebrating my promotion to a job I ultimately didn't get, but you did?'_ Please.

But then she decided honesty—not cageyness—would probably work more in her favour, especially as the captain and Mikaelson were both regarding her as Suspect No. 1. So, exhaling a slight huff of a sigh, she tossed her hair back over one shoulder and replied, "We were celebrating my promotion."

At least Mikaelson chose that moment not to look supercilious; instead, he seemed calculating as he mentally processed all that she said—she could almost see the gears in his head turning and she didn't know if that was somehow worse, "And you were there all night?"

"Yeah, I was and Bonnie stayed the night, too," she said, her mind racing as she tried to think of something that would corroborate her story before, triumphantly, she remembered: "The CCTV camera—there's a CCTV camera right outside my apartment. You can see that Bonnie and I were there all night and that Elena left around eleven."

"Why did she leave?" Mikaelson asked, his blue eyes suddenly seeming more stormy than ever as he glanced up to meet her gaze.

Caroline shook her head, teeth clamped firmly on her bottom lip as she tried to remember—through the haze of wine that had clouded her mind the night before—just why Elena had took off in such a hurry, "Jeremy texted her—he said he needed her to pick up some things from the store. She wanted to get there before it closed."

"And Jeremy is...?"

"Her younger brother," Saltzman interjected before it appeared as though a thought had suddenly struck him and his attention shifted to Caroline, eyebrows raised in an inquistive look, "Speaking of her siblings, Forbes. Has there been any word from—?"

Caroline knew what he was about to ask—before, indeed, the captain had finished his question—but she was robbed of her opportunity to answer when the door burst open and Matt stood there, one hand still braced on the handle.

"Care, I've found out something you _really_ need to hear," he began, though he stilled when both Mikaelson and Saltzman turned their heads to look at him; he slipped into the room, closing the door behind him, "Captain. Detective Sergeant."

"Matt," Caroline couldn't help but smile slightly, grateful for his presence and any news he may have brought, "What do you have for me?"

"Well, I—uh—I went to speak to the principal of the elementary school, like you asked me—"

"I didn't authorize that," Mikaelson cut in, with a frown.

"Well you weren't here," Caroline retorted through gritted teeth, sparing him a glimpse of a glare out of the corner of her eye, "So I made an executive decision. Go on, Matt."

"Yeah, well," Matt inhaled a deep breath, "He said that Elena had quit, Caroline. Almost two weeks ago."

For a long moment, Caroline felt numb as the revelation washed over her. "No," she said, at last, swallowing thickly as she glanced over to her timeline where it was clearly marked out that, from eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, Elena was in work, "That can't be right. She—She never told me."

"Well," Mikaelson began and she lifted her gaze to him, "I guess you didn't know your friend as well as you thought."

She scoffed at him but she couldn't ignore the lump that had risen, unbidden, in her throat—nor, despite her efforts, could she shake the horrible feeling that prickled uncomfortably over her skin at this new discovery. The feeling that—maybe, _possibly_—he was right.

:-:

Caroline dropped the keys to her apartment onto the end table she kept by the door where they landed with a deafening clatter. She'd started renting this place almost two years ago, finding it after a long day of endless searching for somewhere new to live, now that she was making a steady earning. Things were beginning to look hopeless—everywhere she looked was either damp-ridden, or below what she was pretty sure was a crack den—until she came across this one—one bedroom with a large living space, homey kitchen and a coffee shop next door. Plus the rent was only three hundred a month. It was basically perfect.

Now, as she glanced around her, she felt nothing but contempt for her surroundings. Gone was her cute little apartment, decorated liberally with pastels and knick-knacks she'd accumulated throughout high school and college, now all she saw was the place where her best friend, feasibly, spent the last few hours of her life. A wine glass, with the imprint of Elena's Sweet Cherry lip gloss around the rim, was still in the sink, waiting to be washed, and Caroline wasn't sure if she was going crazy, but she swore that her perfume still lingered in the air.

Caroline took a shaky step forwards into her apartment and shrugged out of her jean jacket, tossing it over the back of her couch. She tried to occupy her mind with the thought of menial tasks in an effort to distract it. Dinner. She had hardly eaten all day so she should make dinner—she could make spaghetti, she was pretty sure she had a jar of sauce in one of her cupboards. And she still had her electricity bill to pay and—

_Nope_.

Sucking in a deep breath, she bit down harshly on her bottom lip—so harshly, in fact, that the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She couldn't do it—she couldn't just sit around like everything was fine. With that thought in mind, Caroline retreated into her bedroom and pulled the blue duffel bag she usually took to the gym out from under her bed.

Throwing open her closet doors, she grabbed some clothes and, folding them hastily, stuffed them into the bag. Her curling iron, laptop and make-up bag joined them along with a few pairs of shoes. A quick scan of her room confirmed that she had everything and, with that assurance, she zipped up her duffel and slung it purposefully over her shoulder. She paused only to grab her jacket and keys before she was out the door and making her way down to the car park.

It didn't take her long to get to her destination—it was late and there wasn't much traffic—but she was still grateful when her boyfriend's apartment building came into view. His was much nicer than hers, located with a view that looked out onto the town square—it was bought for him by his parents, though the upkeep, she had to admit, was all down to him.

Tyler Lockwood opened the door on her second knock and she couldn't help the grateful smile that overcame her features when she saw him standing in the doorway, dressed casually in sweatpants and a loose-fitting tank top. She threw her arms around his neck, his own winding around her waist as she buried her face in his shoulder and cried.

"I heard about Elena," he murmured as he stroked her blonde hair in a comforting gesture, "Are you OK?"

"No, I just—" she lifted her head and drew in a short, rattling breath, "I just can't understand it. Why anyone would do that—and to _Elena_."

"I know, Care. Hey—why don't you come in, huh? Let me take that for you," she shrugged the duffel bag off her shoulder, allowing the strap to fall into his waiting hand as she followed him inside.

She sniffled as she shut the door behind her. Tyler's TV was on, paused on some old action movie, while two beer bottles sat on his coffee table—one empty, the other half-drunk. She could feel his eyes on her and she turned her head to meet his gaze, granting him a weak smile.

"I couldn't be at home alone—not with... _everything_," she said, by means of explanation, pausing palpably before: "I was wondering if, maybe, I could stay with you for a couple of nights?"

For a split-second, Tyler looked taken aback by her request—and she wondered if maybe she should have just gone to her Mom's—but then the shock melted away, and he nodded reassuringly, "Sure, Care, of course," he said, turning from her, "Have you eaten yet? I could make something, or I have some leftover meatloaf in the fridge?"

"No, thanks, I'm good," she replied, her fingers brushing against his as she took her bag from him, "I think I might just go to bed, get an early night—I have to be in work early tomorrow. Thank you, though—I really appreciate you letting me stay here."

She pressed a kiss to his lips and he looked down on her with warm, chocolate brown eyes, "Anytime, babe. Just let me know if you need anything."

"I will," Caroline replied, before disappearing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

She used the street light that filtered in through Tyler's bedroom window to change, standing in otherwise darkness as she peeled off her dress and slipped into a pair of pyjama shorts and an old sweatshirt. His cotton sheets were heavenly and, as she settled into them, she couldn't help but think—even if she didn't get much sleep that night, as she anticipated—she would at least be comfortable as she processed her thoughts.

Elena had quit—why? She _loved_ her job, she had always said so. And, more importantly, why hadn't she seen fit to mention it to Caroline or Bonnie—her supposed best friends? Unless... did Bonnie know? Caroline still hadn't returned any of her calls, though she vowed to do so soon, once her mind was more collected. And when she didn't have Mikaelson breathing down her neck, narrowing her down as one of the lead suspects.

Her mind was whirring, confusion plaguing her and—worst of all—she had a horrible, sinking feeling that this was only just the beginning.

A few hours later—when still no rational conclusion had presented itself to her—the door creaked open and Tyler crept in beside her, "Care?" he whispered over the rustling of sheets.

Closing her eyes, she pretended to be asleep.

* * *

_So, there was chapter two. I know there wasn't much Klaroline interaction, but I promise there'll be more to come - and they'll definitely grow closer - as they delve into the investigation some more. ;)_

_Speaking of, in the next chapter, they'll be interviewing their first official suspect as more of it is unravelled. I'm actually very excited about this story as this mystery type thing is something I've never written before and I love dropping hints that will be relevant later._

_As always, reviews are much appreciated! Until next time. c:_


	3. Chapter 3

_Once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited that last chapter - you are all so wonderful! c:_

_Warning: This fic deals with death of a major character._

_Disclaimer: As always, I do not own The Vampire Diaries._

* * *

Eventually—she wasn't sure when, exactly—Caroline fell into a fitful slumber, awaking early the next morning. So early, in fact, that the sky outside was still the pale grey of dawn, the subtle glimmer of pink, just visible on the horizon, the only real indicator of the rising sun.

This was it—she thought as she awoke, her first thought of the morning—this was the second day of the investigation. The second day of her Elena-less life.

For a long moment, she idled in bed—clinging futilely to the serenity of dawn as she watched the first vestiges of light filter in and illuminate the ceiling bright gold. Beside her, entangled in his cotton sheets and still snoring loudly, Tyler was a warm presence and she inclined her head to look at him, a soft smile playing on the corners of her lips. Careful not to wake him, she reached out a hand to brush his dark hair back from where it had fallen over his eyes, her own eyes crinkling slightly in amusement when she spotted the pool of drool that had gathered on the pillow, beside the corner of his mouth.

It was 6AM when Caroline finally decided to get out of bed, pausing only to gather her wash bag and towel from her duffel on her way to Tyler's bathroom. The air around her—along with the eggshell white tiles beneath her feet—were cold as she undressed, wriggling out of her sweatshirt and shorts to stand, shivering, with her arms wrapped around herself. She was glad, then, to step into the comforting embrace of the shower's hot spray—grateful for the way it helped banish the chill she felt not just outside, but within her, even if it was only for a little while.

Tyler was still asleep when she returned to his bedroom, clad only in a towel, to root through her duffel bag in search of something to wear for the day. For too long she considered the pantsuit she'd deliberately packed—wondering, maybe, if it would make her look more professional and, at the very least, stop Mikaelson from looking at her as though she was some sorority girl who'd just wandered into the station one day and everyone was too polite to ask her to leave—before she decided _you know what, screw it_ and, more importantly, _screw him_. She would wear what she wanted.

She pulled on a green dress and a black jacket, completing the look with a pair of black ankle boots. She blow-dried her hair—miraculously, while Tyler still slept—and straightened it until she was satisfied that it was sitting right. Once she had finished her make-up, she spared her reflection the briefest hint of a satisfied half-smile. Looking good in a cute outfit was her armour—as much as anyone else's pantsuit or, as in Mikaelson's case, their Henleys and bohemian beaded necklaces.

For her, breakfast was a dull affair—two pieces of wholemeal toast that she took a single bite out of before pushing them away, her appetite still stubbornly lacking. Tyler stumbled groggily out of his bedroom, still bleary-eyed, as she was pouring some coffee from the pot into her travel mug. Granting him an affectionate look, she poured him out a cup and pressed it into his waiting hand.

"Thanks," he mumbled out, barely stifling a yawn. Reaching up a hand, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and appraised her, gaze flickering momentarily to the clock on the wall—seven in the morning, it read, "You're up early," he noted.

"Yeah, I'm gonna head into work soon," she said, pausing to take a sip of her coffee and relishing the way her synapses sparked with the introduction of caffeine into her system, "There's a lot of work to be done on Elena's case."

"Wait," Tyler blinked back at her, a crease forming between his brown eyes, "They have you working on that?"

"Yeah," Caroline replied, moving around the kitchen island to gather up her handbag and keys, "They made me the lead on it—well, the co-lead. It's kind of a long story."

"Can they do that?" he asked her, shaking his head, "I mean, I'm just going off of what I know from TV but isn't the case, like, too personal for you to work on or something?"

"Yeah, that was a concern, but I told the captain I could handle it," she explained to him, lifting her shoulders in a shrug—a forced show of nonchalance which she hoped looked more authentic than it felt—as she checked her cell and slipped it into her bag, zipping it up in the front pocket.

Tyler grabbed a piece of her discarded toast, taking a bite and chewing on it thoughtfully, "Yeah, I don't doubt that, Care, but..." he paused to huff out a sigh, "Look, all I'm saying is, one of your best friends was just _murdered_, and now, all of a sudden, it's up to you to figure out who did it? I just—It doesn't seem right to me."

"_Tyler_," Caroline said, unable to help the touch of exasperation that seeped, unbidden, into her tone as she looked up at him with a note of finality in her eyes, "I know that this is going to be difficult—believe me, I do—but I wasn't lying to them and I'm not lying to you now. I _can_ handle this. It's just—It's something I feel I need to do. For Elena."

"Caroline..." he shook his head and she wondered if he would ever truly understand her motivations—if he even _could_, for that matter, "I just... I don't want you putting yourself through the emotional wringer here."

Caroline approached him, an affectionate twist to her lips, "You're sweet," she whispered to him, her warm breath ghosting over his lips before she leaned forward to kiss him softly on the corner of his mouth; as their lips met, he seemed to relax—if only slightly, "I'll be back here later tonight—I'm not sure when but it'll probably be kind of late. Don't wait up for me, OK?"

"OK," Tyler nodded, trying for a smile as he watched her sling her bag over her shoulder, "Care, you know that if you need anything today, you just—you call me, OK? Even if it's just to check in or to complain about how bad Matt's coffee is, all right? I'll come around with the good stuff."

"Not that weak stuff you call coffee?" she countered with the barest hint of a smile, only half-teasing him.

"God, no. Starbucks, obviously," he replied, with a grin—one that, she couldn't help but notice, didn't quite reach his eyes, dark and troubled as they were with concern.

She exhaled a laugh, tinged with mirth, as she hoped—oh, God, did she hope—that his concern was unjustified. Though she wouldn't admit it to him, or to Matt or to anyone really beyond the confines of her own mind, she couldn't ignore the sense of doubt that had settled itself, heavy like a stone, in the pit of her stomach. _Was_ she up to this? _Could_ she handle it? Insecurities she'd thought she'd shed long ago had come back to her in full force, nagging at her thoughts with an irritating persistence, despite her attempts to shake them.

"I will. Thank you," she said, casting him a smile over her shoulder as she stood, one hand braced against the door handle, "I love you."

"I love you, too," she heard him reply, faintly, as she stepped out of the apartment, the door swinging shut behind her.

:-:

When she arrived at the station, she fully expected to be the first one there and—for a moment, as she took in the empty, eerily quiet main room wherein the computers were just row upon row of blank screens—she thought she was—that is, until she heard the distinct rustle of movement in the back. Taking a sip of her coffee, she crept towards the source of the noise, peering into the room she had worked in the day before to see Mikaelson already there, sitting in a swivel chair—which, after a quick glance around the floor, she could confirm he'd stolen from behind Mindy's desk—while he watched something she couldn't help but find vaguely familiar on the station's outdated television set.

His wool trench coat was off, slung over the back of his chair neatly, thus allowing Caroline to see the slender, but—if the way his Henley clung to him was any indication—surprisingly well-built frame underneath. A pad of paper was held in his left hand, while a pen was gripped loosely in his right; she watched him scrutinize the television screen for a moment, before he scribbled something down on the paper in a quick, but elegant script.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, taking a step forwards, into the room, and dumping her bag onto the nearby table.

He spared her the briefest of glances before he reached down and picked up a take-out cup of coffee from where it had been sitting on the floor, beside his chair leg. "Working a case," she frowned when he parroted her response from the day before back to her with ease, "And you?"

"Also working," she replied quickly, one hand braced against the table's edge as she leaned against it, "Figured it'd be a good idea to get in an early start. What are you—?"

Though she had fully intended to ask him what he was watching, her gaze flitting to the grainy black-and-white image on the screen as she did so, she couldn't help but be struck with the same strange sense of familiarity as before—only this time it was accompanied by a sudden realisation. Caroline straightened, looking down at him with one perfectly-shaped eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"This is the CCTV from my apartment building," she stated, her lips pursed slightly.

Mikaelson didn't even turn to look up at her, "Just ensuring your story checks out, love," he replied, in an even tone, taking a quick sip of his coffee before he replaced the polystyrene cup back onto the floor.

She gritted her teeth at him, "My name is Caroline or Detective Forbes, not _love_," she retorted, spitting the last word back at him in a poor imitation of his accent.

At that, the corner of his lips twitched up in what she thought might have been a genuinely amused smirk but it disappeared within a second, leaving his features impassive once again and her unsure of just what she had seen. "I'll bear that in mind, sweetheart," he replied, without missing a beat.

Caroline hissed out a breath, a biting remark already poised on the tip of her tongue when, suddenly, the sight of herself on the television screen called her attention away. She watched as she balanced a pizza box in one hand, using the other to text out a reply to Tyler—oh God, had that seriously only been two days ago?—before she slipped her cell phone into her pocket and let herself into her apartment. The time at the bottom of the screen read: 19:03.

Mikaelson lifted his gaze to her in a quizzical expression, "Who were you texting?"

Caroline's brow furrowed and, though she couldn't help but find the question wholly irrelevant, she sighed and answered it nonetheless, "My boyfriend. He was out for the night with some friends. I can show you the texts if you want."

He exhaled a short breath, his pen scratching along the pad of paper as he wrote something down—she wished she knew what, "That won't be necessary," he replied.

After she let herself into her apartment, the next four hours—fast-forwarded through at a low speed—passed by uneventfully until, at eleven oh six, the door opened and Mikaelson put the tape back to a normal pace. Caroline felt her heart constrict painfully in her chest as she watched Elena close the door behind her and immediately put her ringing phone to her ear. She tossed her dark hair over one shoulder as she greeted whoever was on the other end, the camera catching the beginnings of a wide smile.

"Yeah, I'm out now—I'll be there in a few minutes," she was saying, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip as she suppressed a laugh, "Oh, shut up. OK, yeah, I'll see you in a bit."

She hung up and walked off-screen, the elevator chiming as it carried her away. A lump rose in Caroline's throat as she watched the last remaining footage of her best friend and she could feel the familiar sting of tears in her eyes, desperate to be shed, but she held them back, gritting her teeth against them resolutely. What wanted to be a sob came out, instead, as a sniffle which—if Mikaelson heard it—he mercifully didn't call any attention to by glancing her way.

The next few hours of the tape passed by without much to note—to the point where Caroline had started counting and then recounting the visible ceiling tiles on the screen just to keep her mind occupied—and she cast Mikaelson a curious glance. Once again, she was struck by how odd it was to see him—this famed cop whose name was so often splashed across the newspapers—working in their decidedly small-town police station. It was certainly a cause for intrigue and her mind wandered, as it always did when she picked up this particular train of thought, to what exactly had brought him to them.

If the press was to be believed, he had practically ruled the Homicide Division in Chicago—why, then, would he trade that in for a position in Mystic Falls? Taking a contemplative sip of her coffee, she tried to remember what his last case was before transferring—it had been well-publicised, she remembered that much. She recalled something about the murder of a psychology student but, in regards to everything else, she drew a blank. Frowning slightly, she made a mental note to look it up later.

Her gaze snapped up to him when she heard the tell-tale whir of the tape fast-forwarding fall silent and, her curiosity piqued, she glanced over at the TV. Mikaelson had put it back to normal speed again, though Caroline wasn't sure why until she saw her apartment door creak open. Her heart thundered in her chest, thumping in loud staccato rhythm as she watched Bonnie emerge, one arm already in her zip-up hoodie while the other reached out to close the door quietly behind her—presumably so as not to wake her still sleeping friend inside.

Shrugging into her hooded jacket, she zipped it up and withdrew her cell phone from one of the pockets. Her head was bowed as she tapped out a message to an unknown person, her features troubled when she glanced up, walking off-screen to the elevator. The timestamp in the bottom right-hand corner glared back at them: 01:09, it read in stark white and Caroline stared at it, her pulse racing and her hands shaking.

"Well, the timing fits," Mikaelson noted, glancing over to her with his eyebrows raised, "Did you know she left at that time?"

A horrible, numb feeling had prickled its way uncomfortably over Caroline's skin and it took her a moment to digest his question, let alone answer it, "...N—No, I had no idea," she choked out, a feeling of infuriation scorching through her veins at the skepticism she could see burning in his eyes, "Why would I lie about this?! This is my _best friend's murder investigation_."

"Perhaps because you are covering for another of your best friends," Mikaelson stated, his gaze flicking pointedly to the CCTV tape.

"No," Caroline stated stubbornly, refusing to believe what he was implying in spite of what she'd just seen, "Bonnie wouldn't."

"And yet, the evidence states otherwise. You see, this is precisely why I didn't want you working this case," he retorted, shaking his head while she openly seethed, loathing him more than she thought was even possible, "Already your personal ties are clouding your judgement."

Caroline pushed herself away from the table, standing up straight with her travel-mug clasped tightly in a white-knuckled grip, "I have nothing I need to prove to _you_."

"Nothing," he inclined his head to her, a wry half-smile that was devoid of any mirth playing faintly on his lips, "except your innocence."

"Fine," she snapped back, "Watch the rest of the tape and you'll see I didn't leave until the morning."

"Yes, and perhaps we'll learn more about your other best friend's whereabouts during that time," he flipped to a previous page in his notes, affirming something briefly before he looked up at her, his blue eyes somehow stormier than ever, "Miss Bennett, isn't it? The one whom you swore spent the night at your apartment on the night of Miss Gilbert's murder?"

Caroline shook her head, refusing to dignify his question—though she was certain it was more of a taunt—with an answer. Instead, she steeled herself, fixing her gaze on the television screen as the hours on the timestamp rolled by. At nearly four in the morning—3.52AM, to be exact—Bonnie returned, the tape providing no explanation of her whereabouts during her absence as she let herself into the apartment with the key Caroline had given both her and Elena. There, her best friend remained until 7.01AM when she emerged into the camera's scope again, this time with her handbag slung over her shoulder as she (presumably) made her way home.

Caroline watched as, only a short while later, she herself left her apartment—at 8.32AM—locking the door behind her before she made her way to the elevators, a definite spring to her step. It sounded silly, and altogether pointless to dwell on, but she couldn't help but wish she could go back and warn her past self of the disappointment and despair she had in store for her, waiting to pounce on her within only a matter of hours.

"Well, it seems your alibi checks out, Detective Forbes," Mikaelson was saying and her gaze snapped to him as he rose, with an almost predatory grace, and moved to eject the tape; with the push of a button, the image of her apartment building turned to static.

She watched as he pulled on his coat, "You're going to go talk to Bonnie now, aren't you?" she asked him, a knowing look in her eye.

"Well, you saw the tape," he replied, as if that explained everything.

"OK, then," she agreed, raising her eyebrows at him, "Are we taking your car or mine?"

A beat of silence passed between them as, for a minute, Mikaelson merely looked at her, his brow furrowed and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly—as though he didn't know whether she was joking or not, before, eventually, he decided on the former and exhaled a mirthless breath of laughter, "Oh, no, love, you're staying here," he said as he walked out of the room.

"Um, no I'm not," she shot back at him, following him step for step, "This is my case, too, remember? The captain gave it to me to work on, same as you. And you may be my boss, but he's yours, so..." she trailed off with a slight shrug as though any other argument he presented was therefore invalid.

Mikaelson stopped at that, rounding on her with a look that was clearly exasperated, "You're not working this case," he reiterated, fixing the collar of his coat as he looked down on her, "It's too—"

She exhaled a heavy sigh, her nostrils flaring daintily as she glowered back at him, "Oh, please. Don't give me that whole 'it's too personal, your judgement will be clouded' crap because that's what it is—_crap_," she retorted, feeling the adrenaline rush through her veins as her ire rose, "I don't care what you say or what you think of me, _I_ am a good cop. I've got three years under my belt, I've closed more cases than anyone else here and _your_ job would be _mine _if you hadn't suddenly decided that you were too good for Chicago or whatever it is that made you want to transfer. So, I'm coming with you to question this suspect whether you like it or not."

"Besides," she couldn't resist throwing over her shoulder at him, "I know where she lives."

:-:

Caroline had always loved Bonnie's house.

Even when it had belonged to her grandmother, it had always seemed so... homey and Caroline had always relished the nights she got to sleepover there, looking forward to them with eager anticipation. When Bonnie had inherited it, upon Miss Sheila's death four years ago, she had done her best to preserve the cosy atmosphere her grandmother had established, while also adding her own unique touch.

The furniture that filled it was—in a word—eclectic. Bonnie had always been a big advocate of flea markets and eBay, loving nothing more than scoring a bargain on an underpriced piece of furniture which she would then restore to a state that was almost better than new. At that moment, Caroline sat on the living room's plush green couch, her back propped up by a collection of throw pillows, as she tried not to remember all the good times she, Bonnie and Elena had had in this very room. It was an understatement to say that this situation was one she never thought she'd find herself in—about to question one friend about the murder of another.

Lifting her gaze from where she was frowning down at a chip in her peach nail polish, she spotted Mikaelson standing with his hands clasped behind his back, examining one of the many paintings that hung from Bonnie's yellow walls in a way that reminded her—rather bizarrely—of the museum scene in _Ferris Bueller's Day Off. _Part of her wanted to make a remark—she could already feel one dancing precariously on the tip of her tongue—but she bit it back. She was already clinging to her position as co-lead detective on this case by a very thin—very vulnerable—thread and she didn't want to be the one to cut it so she settled for simply rolling her eyes at his back.

_Pretentious asshole_, she cast at him silently.

Bonnie swept into the living room, a wooden tray clasped stiffly in her hands, "Tea?" she asked them both, sparing them each a glance.

Mikaelson shook his head while Caroline accepted the cup that the other girl passed to her, stirring in liberal amounts of milk and sugar. Wrapping her oversized grey cardigan tighter around her slender frame, Bonnie took a seat in the armchair opposite the blonde, her own cup cradled in her hands. She swallowed hard, olive green eyes flitting from Caroline to Mikaelson and back again.

"This is about Elena, isn't it," she stated rather than asked.

Caroline nodded while Mikaelson took a step towards her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his wool trench coat, "Miss Bennett," he began, his voice calm and even in a way that didn't quite belie the warning underneath, "We pulled the security footage from Detective Forbes' apartment building—where you, she and Miss Gilbert all spent the hours before the latter's death. The CCTV, though, shows you leaving the apartment at approximately..."

He pulled the pad of paper he'd been working on earlier from his pocket and, flipping to a page, confirmed a fact briefly before he lifted his gaze to regard Bonnie coolly again, "...1.10AM. As far as we are aware, this was without Detective Forbes' knowledge and it puts your whereabouts in a state of uncertainty during Miss Gilbert's estimated time of death. Can you tell us where you went, Miss Bennett?"

Caroline watched the conflict of emotions that passed across her friend's face at the question and—for a brief, but all too long, moment—she felt her heartbeat quicken because _no_, _oh God_, _no. _Then Bonnie's shoulders relaxed a fraction—a mark of resignation. She took a quick sip of tea as though to steel her nerves before: "I was..." she sighed, shaking her head slightly, "I was with Jeremy."

"Jeremy?" Caroline echoed, her eyebrows arched incredulously.

"Miss Gilbert's younger brother?" Mikaelson asked for clarification, glancing over to her with a questioning look.

"Yeah," Caroline replied, nodding—so shocked was she at this new gem of information that she couldn't bring herself to feel even the slightest bit smug at having knowledge where Mikaelson lacked it. Her gaze flitted back to her friend, "Why were you with him?"

Another sip of tea—longer this time, a clear attempt at stalling. "Jeremy and I... well, we used to date. Sort of, it was complicated," she explained.

"What? _When_?" Caroline couldn't help but exclaim, very much aware that any guise of professionalism she had held had now slipped—if not disappeared completely.

"It was last year and it was only for a couple of months. Four... maybe five? I can't really remember and it wasn't anything serious anyway," Bonnie said, placing her cup on the coffee table with a gentle clatter, her hands clasping themselves tightly in the lap of her jeans, "We were just hooking up mostly, it was... casual. It was fun. For awhile, it looked as though things might start to get serious but I... I ended it before it could ever get that far."

"Why?" Caroline couldn't help but ask, her curiosity rampant.

This was _huge_. All last year—when Bonnie had reiterated her decision that she was swearing off men each time Caroline attempted to fix her up with someone new—she'd been hooking up with Jeremy Gilbert. How could she not have known? Searching back, Caroline tried to think of any instances that could have given away the secret, things she'd overlooked at the time but rang with a sudden sense of clarity now that she had new information to work with.

There was none. Wildly, she wondered if Elena had known.

Bonnie's hesitation was palpable and, when she finally answered the question, she spoke with a cautious air, choosing her words carefully, "Jeremy—he's..." her gaze flickered briefly to Mikaelson before falling on Caroline again, who encouraged her with a gentle nod, "He's got a pretty serious drug problem. When we first... got together, he was only using pot, I swear. But then—then he started to get into the heavier stuff—coke, mostly. It got really bad and I said I couldn't be involved with him, not like this, but I agreed to stand by him—as a friend—while he tried to get clean."

Mikaelson was scratching away in his notebook again. "How does this tie in with Monday night?" Caroline asked her, leaning forward slightly, "Did Elena—Did she know?"

"No," Bonnie shook her head, "At least, I don't think so. He said that he only told me and his parents. And he'd been doing _so well_—honest—but on Monday night, he kind of fell off the wagon. He called me around," she fished her phone out of her jeans' pocket and checked her call logs before handing it to Caroline to confirm, "five to one, said he needed help. I walked out to meet him and took him to a McDonald's so that he could get some food in him and sober up. We hung out there for a couple of hours, just talking, until I called him a cab to take him home and made my way back to Caroline's at around four."

Caroline nodded, the knot of tension in her chest easing ever so slightly—the McDonald's security tapes and staff could verify Bonnie's story, she was in the clear, she repeated to herself over and over, cherishing it for the reassuring mantra it was—though, try as she did to reason it away, she couldn't help the guilt that seeped into the cracks. For a dreadful moment, she had actually considered the possibility that Bonnie might be culpable, though she had loved Elena like a sister just as much as Caroline had. Saltzman was right—this case was going to be a difficult one.

"Was Jeremy Gilbert behaving erratically at all when you were with him?" Mikaelson asked, breaking Caroline out of her reverie.

"Well, yeah. But I just—I just assumed he was freaked, in case his Mom or Dad found out. He's really close to them and, after all the work they put in to help him get clean..." Bonnie paused, swallowing thickly, "I guess I thought he didn't want to disappoint them."

"Did he say anything to you about his activity that night—before you met up with him?" he continued.

"No, nothing. He says, once he came down from his high, he couldn't remember much of anything," Bonnie replied, reaching up a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Caroline watched her, noting the tremor in her fingers and deducing that there was something else, something more she wanted to tell them, "I do know that he was working that night, though," her gaze locked with her friend and the two girls shared a meaningful look, "Up until around eleven."

Caroline felt a sudden rush of comprehension wash over her and she leaned back a little in her seat, glad of the throw pillows' support behind her as she exhaled a heavy breath. Suddenly aware of Mikaelson's gaze boring into her, demanding an explanation, she looked up at him with wide eyes and explained: "Jeremy's a bartender—at the Mystic Grill." _Near where_ _Elena was found _went unspoken between them but she watched as cool realization flickered in his eyes.

"That'll be all, Miss Bennett, I thank you for your co-operation," Mikaelson said, stuffing his pad of paper back into his coat pocket while Caroline rose from her seat, "We'll be in touch if we have any further questions. Detective Forbes?"

Though he called to her, beckoning her out the door so they could plan the next stage of their investigation in private, Caroline couldn't resist lingering. Bonnie stood as well and the two girls embraced each other, succumbing to their grief in the presence of another person who could relate to their feelings.

"Do you... Do you think there was anything we could have done? To stop it?" Bonnie whispered, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her hand.

Caroline sniffled and shook her head, "No, I—I don't think there was. But we can still do right by her, we can honour her memory and we can make sure that whoever did this to her..." the blonde paused, sucking in a deep breath before she continued, "We can make sure whoever did this to her gets put behind bars where they belong."

Bonnie nodded in agreement, "I don't know if you heard—the Gilberts, they left me a message of my machine—they plan to have Elena's funeral this Sunday. They, um," her gaze flickered briefly to Mikaelson who—Caroline could see in her peripheral vision—was hovering near the front door, "They hope to have her body released back to them by then."

"Yeah, I'll be there, definitely," Caroline nodded, granting her friend a sad half-smile as she took her hand in her own and gave it a slight squeeze, "Take care, OK? I'll talk to you soon."

"Yeah, just—you know—call me when you can, I understand that you're busy," Bonnie added as Caroline engulfed her in another tight hug before they reluctantly broke apart.

Sparing Bonnie one last look, Caroline followed Mikaelson outside. The afternoon sun was bright, giving the day a summery feel—one that suggested it should be spent in the company of refreshing cocktails and barbecues. Distantly, perhaps in the next street over, Caroline could just make out the sound of children laughing, chatting with one and other as they enjoyed the good weather and played outside.

She cast a glance over to her partner as they walked to where his black SUV was parked, glinting wildly in the sun's glare. "Tell me," he asked her, meeting her gaze, "Where does Jeremy Gilbert live?"

* * *

_So, things are starting to get interesting..._

_Or, at least, I hope so, lol. Also, Klaus - it's so weird having to call him 'Mikaelson' this whole fic, it feels so formal - now seems to have a sort of respect for Caroline? Progress? Haha, though it doesn't seem like it at the moment, I swear this is a Klaroline fanfic. It's just gonna take them some time - gosh, they're just so stubborn. c:_

_As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Until next time, guys! x_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries._

:-:

When Jeremy had graduated high school, he and a few friends had decided to open up a comic book store along Main Street. It had been small, though in a quaint sort of way, offering graphic novel enthusiasts the chance to escape reality—at least, for a few hours—to peruse the collections they had in stock. It had even been going well—it won some tri-state award, the title of which Caroline couldn't recall—however, it eventually ended up going the way of most foundling businesses during the recession. Caroline still felt a pang of sadness, on Jeremy's behalf, each time she drove past its boarded-up windows and graffitied walls.

With his store gone and most of his money along with it, Jeremy had—under Elena's encouragement—moved out of his one-bedroom apartment and back in with their parents, working nights tending the bar at the Mystic Grill to fund the community college classes he took during the day. Though she had never been all that friendly with him, a certain closeness had been forged through her association with Elena and Katherine. She'd thought he'd been getting better—overcoming his economic downturn with the help of his family—but to hear from Bonnie that he'd gotten himself mixed up with drugs, Caroline's heart cracked a little at the thought.

The day had gotten hotter somehow in the short drive from Bonnie's house to the Gilbert residence and, as Mikaelson pulled his SUV in against the curb, Caroline shimmied out of her jacket and left it on the passenger seat. Sliding out of the car, the subtle breeze was refreshing against the exposed skin of her shoulders and she closed her eyes briefly, savouring it. Usually on days like today, she, Bonnie and Elena would have all met up after work to head to the Mystic Grill where they would have caught up over a bottle of chilled wine—or, perhaps, a few rounds of cocktails.

An intrusive thought pushed against the calm threatening to envelope her psyche. _Those days were over now_, she realized and, with that, reality crashed back down around her deafeningly.

Her eyes opened sharply as Mikaelson slammed his car door shut behind her, though her attention wasn't on him. Instead, she found her gaze drawn to a van parked a few doors down from the Gilbert house, its white coat of paint glinting madly in the afternoon sun's glare. An uneasy feeling prickled its way down the back of her neck. She narrowed her eyes at the purple lettering emblazoned along the van's side, not yet able to make it out until—

WPKW9.

A wave of dread washed over her.

"Oh, no," she groaned.

"What?" Mikaelson asked, as he came to stand beside her.

"Andie Starr," Caroline deadpanned, with a pointed nod towards the van.

Sure enough, WPKW9's leading female anchor, Andie Starr, had already clambered out of her vehicle, her cameraman close behind her as she approached the two of them at a remarkable pace—despite the five-inch heels she was wearing. Caroline watched as Mikaelson's shoulders tensed and the furrow in his brow deepened with annoyance. His lips twisted into an ill-disguised frown as Andie skidded to a halt beside him, fixing her hair with a practised hand, before she whipped around to face the camera, her features set into a serious look.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here now with lead detective—" _co-lead_, Caroline corrected internally, though she kept her mouth clamped shut, glad to have escaped the reporter's scrutiny, "—on the Elena Gilbert case, the famed Detective Niklaus Mikaelson, formerly of Chicago's Homicide Division. Detective Mikaelson, what do you have to say about this heinous crime that has rocked the very foundations our small town community?"

Mikaelson remained silent, though Caroline watched as a muscle worked furiously in his jaw.

Andie exhaled a little puff of air, though still she continued on, resolutely undeterred: "Do you have any leads?" she cast a keen glance at the Gilbert house, before leaning in conspiratorially, "Are you pursuing a lead_ right now_?"

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his wool trench coat, which he was still wearing despite the sweltering heat, Mikaelson gritted his teeth audibly and ignored Andie's probing stare, advancing up towards the Gilbert house wordlessly. Despite the rejection, Andie proved relentless as she trotted alongside him, beckoning her cameraman to follow behind her. Caroline ducked her head, watching Andie from out of the corner of her eye as—seeing that her current line of questioning was proving fruitless—the reporter abruptly switched tact.

"Detective, what exactly brings you here to Mystic Falls?" Andie demanded, raising her eyebrows at him sharply, "After all, you've established a prolific career for yourself in Chicago—does this sudden change in scenery have anything to do with your recent work on the Camille O'Connell case?"

_Camille_ _O'Connell_—the name caught Caroline's attention instantly, her mind linking it to the psychology student that had been murdered during the last case Mikaelson had worked for Chicago, before his transfer. She tried to keep her interest discreet though, especially when she saw the reaction the name elicited from him. He stood still suddenly and Caroline could see, from the way the fabric rippled, that he had clenched his fists within the pockets of his coat and, though his expression was carefully impassive, his eyes seemed stormier than usual.

"No comment," Mikaelson muttered, his tone verging dangerously close to a snarl.

Andie's face fell and she mumbled darkly under her breath to her cameraman, clearly unhappy at being deprived of her scoop. Caroline swallowed, her gaze flashing briefly from the WPKW9 news team to Mikaelson's retreating back before she followed the latter at a brisk pace, up the porch steps to the Gilbert residence. The tension in the air was thick, the silence between them uncomfortable.

Caroline tossed a quick glance over her shoulder, to where Andie and her cameraman were walking back to their van, "You know," Caroline began cautiously, "They're probably going to brand you as—" she raised her hands to form air quotes, "—'cold' and 'uncooperative' on tonight's broadcast."

Mikaelson spared her the briefest of sideways looks, "Let them," was all he said, his tone coolly resigned as he pushed the doorbell with his index finger, using a tad more force than necessary.

Caroline sucked in a deep breath—despite whatever bad blood existed between them, she hadn't said what she did to be malicious; rather, she had merely intended to warn him of what the media in Mystic Falls was like, though—she had to admit—she could see how he had come to the opposite interpretation. Shaking her head, she exhaled the breath slowly: "Listen, are you o—?"

The door to the Gilbert house was swung open, cutting her off. Elena's father—esteemed surgeon, Dr. Grayson Gilbert—stood in the doorway, surveying the two of them with a measure of relief in his expression—probably glad that they weren't more journalists, nosing in on his family's grief—before his eyebrows knitted down in a look of concern. As his gaze met hers, Caroline gave him a sympathetic look.

"Hi, Dr. Gilbert," she greeted him softly.

Grayson's dark eyes flashed rapidly from Caroline to Mikaelson and then back again, "Is... Has something happened?" he demanded; one of his hands came up to clutch at the door frame, his knuckles shining white, "Do you have a lead? Have you—Have you made an arrest?"

"We're pursuing a few lines of questioning," Caroline assured him, nodding.

"That's actually why we're here," Mikaelson said, withdrawing his hands from his coat pockets to fold his arms across his chest, "May we come in?"

"Oh—yes, of course," Dr. Gilbert released the door frame and took a step backwards, allowing them to enter.

As Caroline crossed the threshold, the heat from outside seemed to evaporate almost instantly and, suddenly cold, she brought her arms up to wrap loosely around herself. Though Elena hadn't lived with her parents for a few years now, the Gilbert residence still felt empty without her presence. Despite herself, a sad smile tugged gently on the corners of Caroline's lips as she glanced around—she had so many good memories of this house.

She remembered running through the halls at the Gilbert twins' birthday parties when she was six or seven, squealing with delight, her cheeks red with exhilaration after one too many slices of chocolate cake, complete with extra frosting. She remembered spending Saturday nights, wedged between Bonnie and Elena on the living room couch, when they were all in their pre-teens, watching movies and gushing excitedly over which boy they had had a crush on that week, while Katherine hovered nearby, desperate to be included but vehemently protesting otherwise when her mother would encourage her to join in.

Caroline's heart twisted a little when she thought of Katherine. Naturally, she'd been informed of her sister's death, though there was still no word of her coming to town and she had to wonder how callous a person would need to be to abandon their family in a time of such emotional turmoil. Fleetingly, Caroline considered calling her when she got home from work later that night, but instantly thought better of it. It wasn't her place to do so and, besides—she thought, chagrined—she doubted very much that Katherine would want to hear from her anyway. She probably wouldn't even answer.

Beside her, Mikaelson was talking to Dr. Gilbert, updating him on the case. Caroline gave herself a mental shake, pushing aside her trip down memory lane and her thoughts of Katherine to concentrate on the present. From where she was standing, in the Gilberts' front hall, she could see into their living room. Almost every available surface was covered in flower arrangements, all ranging in size and splendour—from the simple but effective to the overtly extravagant and expensive. Their scents filled the air, though it was the two figures amidst the flora that drew Caroline's attention.

Jeremy Gilbert—their _suspect_, Caroline reminded herself, swallowing down the bile that arose with the word—sat on the couch, his arm slung comfortingly around his mother's shoulders as she talked quietly to someone on the phone. A lump formed in Caroline's throat—where they really doing this? The Gilberts' grief was already tantamount as it was and now—here they were—about to add to it by possibly implicating their son.

"No, no, you're not listening to me! I need it—I need it for _Sunday_," Mrs. Gilbert's brittle voice wavered dangerously until it cracked on the last word.

"Here, Mom," Jeremy took the cell phone from his mother's hand gently, "Let me talk to them."

The lump in Caroline's throat grew as comprehension dawned on her—they were planning Elena's funeral.

"I don't understand," Dr. Gilbert was saying to Mikaelson, drawing Caroline's attention back to the two of them, "Why do you need to talk to Jeremy? He—He was at work on Monday night. He doesn't—He _wouldn't_ know anything," Grayson's gaze snapped to her and he gave her a beseeching look, "Caroline, please..."

She swallowed thickly, regretting the fact that she'd left her jacket in Mikaelson's SUV—she could feel her hands trembling and she wished she had pockets to hide them in; instead, she settled with clasping them behind her back, "Dr. Gilbert, you need to understand we're—we're not arresting him for anything"—_yet_, the word went unspoken but hung heavily in the air between them—"We're just trying establish a timeline for all parties of interest."

"Yes," Mikaelson agreed with her, nodding, "And your son has a few hours unaccounted for—all we need is for him to fill in those blanks for us."

Dr. Gilbert shook his head vehemently, "I know what you're trying to say and I'm here to tell you that you're wrong," he protested, folding his arms across his chest defiantly, "Jeremy may have been through some rough times, kept company with the wrong people, but he's past that now—he's _clean_. Besides, he would _never_—he... he couldn't. Him and Elena were always so close, they looked out for each other—Caroline, you remember?"

Caroline closed her eyes briefly, inhaling a deep breath before: "I'm sorry, Dr. Gilbert—I know how hard this must be for you—but I'm going to have to stand by Detective Mikaelson on this. We need to speak to Jeremy."

In response, Grayson Gilbert—a man who'd been like a father to her ever since her own had disappeared to Georgia—gave her a look that was so venomous she felt herself recoil slightly, "Fine," he replied, his nostrils flaring harshly in frustration, "Though I must insist on having our lawyer present if you persist on throwing around baseless accusations—"

"Dad? Is everything... okay?" Jeremy Gilbert had appeared by his father's side, while Miranda watched the exchange warily, from the couch.

"Detective Mikaelson and Detective Forbes want to speak with you—I'm suggesting that we contact our lawyer first," Dr. Grayson informed his son.

Caroline watched as a muscle in Jeremy's jaw worked, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed thickly. His brown eyes—shared by both his sisters—flicked rapidly from his father to Mikaelson before finally settling on her. Almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, a droplet of sweat had formed by his left temple. She raised her eyebrow a fraction, a silent exchange passing between them. _S__he knew__—She knew__ about the drugs._

"It's—It's okay, Dad," Jeremy said at last, "I can talk to them now."

"Jeremy, are you sure?" Dr. Gilbert said, putting a hand on his son's shoulder, "I know you have nothing to hide, but I can call the lawyer—she can be here in ten minutes."

"No, Dad, it's fine. Come on," he gestured behind him with a tilt of his head, "We can talk in here."

Mikaelson nodded and motioned for him to lead the way, as he and Caroline followed Jeremy down the hall into the Gilberts' spacious, well-lit kitchen-cum-dining area. Just as the living room was filled with flower arrangements, every available surface in this room was piled high with tinfoil-covered casserole dishes, tureens of soup and Tupperware boxes of sandwiches.

"Sorry for the mess in here," Jeremy mumbled, as he cleared some boxes away, pushing them into the already overstuffed refrigerator, "People have been really, uh, generous since the news broke last night."

"Jer," Caroline began, her tone soft.

"I know," he turned to face them, his youthful features drawn and pale, "You've spoken to Bonnie already, haven't you?"

"We have," Mikaelson took a step forwards, his hands in his coat pockets again, "Miss Bennett mentioned that you had a drug problem, that you had been sober for some time now, but that you ended up taking some cocaine on Monday night—is that correct?"

"I—I hadn't _meant_ to," Jeremy murmured, scratching his forearm nervously, "I didn't have any on me, or even here at the house. I got rid of it all when I first went into rehab, I didn't want to be tempted when I got out—I... I didn't want to disappoint Mom and Dad by falling off the wagon."

"So why did you take some on Monday night?" Caroline prodded gently.

"There was this guy at the Mystic Grill—I'd never seen him before, he wasn't a regular or anything—who said he had some 'real good shit' on him—his words, not mine," Jeremy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, "I think it was mostly for him and his buddies—he was with some loudmouth, frat-type guys—but he said that he'd sell me some, if I wanted. He asked me while I was on shift, so I said no."

He paused, clicking his tongue, "The only thing was, it was in my head then. It was all I could think about and, when I clocked off at a little after eleven, I found him again outside. He was having a cigarette and we just, you know, got to talking. He sold me about ten grams of the stuff and then we did a couple of lines in his car and after that... well, after that, I—I don't know—it's all just a blank."

"You don't remember anything?" Mikaelson asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not until I called Bonnie and that wasn't until around two hours after, if my call logs are to be believed. To be honest," he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "even that's a bit of a blur."

From where they hung by his sides, Caroline realized that Jeremy's hands were shaking rather violently; her gaze drifted up, appraising his outfit with a critical eye. He was dressed in a slightly worn pair of jeans that were ripped liberally at the knee—they were distinctly his style, but his shirt (navy blue and distinctly smart casual) was another matter entirely. For almost as long as she had known him, Jeremy Gilbert had always been one to favour an array of T-shirts, sporting the symbols of his favourite bands or superheroes, but that afternoon he stood before them in a stiff, formal shirt that he had buttoned up right to his neck.

"Jeremy," Caroline said, carefully, "Is there anything else you want to tell us?"

For a long moment, the youngest Gilbert sibling was silent, eyeing them both uncertainly; Caroline watched as his right fist clenched and unclenched.

"Mr. Gilbert, anything you choose not to disclose to us now could work against your defence," Mikaelson stated plainly.

Sighing, Jeremy reached up hesitantly with fumbling fingers, undoing the top four buttons of his shirt to reveal an angry purple bruise that began at his right pectoral before creeping up onto the base of his neck. Craning his head, Jeremy exposed the column of his throat.

"Oh, my God," Caroline breathed, taking a step forwards to inspect it—blemishing the skin there was four small, round bruises that seemed to closely resemble—

"Fingermarks," Mikaelson said quietly, confirming her suspicions.

"I—I don't know how I got them. When I woke up yesterday morning, I thought that I'd just gotten into a fight or something, but when I heard about Elena..." Jeremy's gaze met Caroline's with a look of such terror that she felt her heart twist painfully in her chest, "You don't actually think I could have done anything to her, do you?"

"That's what we're going to try to find out," Caroline said—the only bit of assurance she could offer him at this point; she glanced over her shoulder at Mikaelson, "I think we should bring him down to the station and collect some fingerprints—that way, if they don't match, we can rule you out as a suspect in this investigation," she added, returning her attention to Jeremy; the alternative outcome, though unmentioned, still hung heavily in the air between them.

Mikaelson nodded and left the kitchen with Jeremy and Caroline close behind him. Dr. and Mrs. Gilbert met them in the hallway, Miranda's hand reaching out instantly for her son's, which she grasped desperately in a white-knuckled grip.

"Where are you taking him?" Dr. Gilbert demanded, "I told you—Jeremy—he wouldn't do something like this!"

"We're just taking him down to the station to carry out some routine DNA profiling," Mikaelson said, "He hasn't been charged with anything, at present."

But Miranda's fingers only curled tighter around her youngest child, refusing to relinquish their hold, "No—you can't. Jeremy..."

"It's OK, Mom," he said, offering her a reassuring twitch of his lips, "They just want to talk some more—I'll be back home in a few hours."

"Come along, Mr. Gilbert," Mikaelson said, motioning him forward.

Jeremy nodded and, with his free hand, gently pried his mother's fingers off him, "I'll look out for him," Caroline said in a low voice to Grayson and Miranda Gilbert—it was hardly much of a reassurance, but she would have felt remiss had she not have said it—before she and Jeremy followed Mikaelson along the hallway and out of the front door.

They had barely dismounted the porch steps, the sole of Caroline's boot coming down onto the front path, crunching the gravel beneath it, when they heard the shrill voice of Andie Starr, calling out to them insistently. Standing on the sidewalk, she teetered dangerously in her high heels as she thrust her microphone out as far as she could manage, her cameraman standing dutifully by her side. The invisible line, marking the Gilbert's house as private property, prevented her from coming any further and, for that, Caroline felt an immense wave of gratitude.

"Detective Mikaelson—_Detective Mikaelson!_" Andie was saying, bouncing up and down excitedly on the balls of her feet as they neared the SUV, "Have you made an arrest?"

"No," Mikaelson said, in a neutral voice, refusing to even look over at her; his features were a cool, impassive mask—even as Andie's microphone bobbed irritatingly close to his jawline, "We're simply taking Mr. Gilbert down to the station for some questioning. No further comment."

It was an admirable attempt on Mikaelson's part, to quash any rumours before they had a chance to spread (which they would, like wildfire, in a small town like Mystic Falls), but Caroline knew what kind of network WPKW9 was and, more importantly, she knew Andie Starr's style of journalism. No doubt, she would do her best to twist the scant facts she had, stopping just short of a libel lawsuit, to paint Jeremy Gilbert as a murderer. She would dig into Jeremy's background, pointing out how he was something of a loner in high school—maybe a neighbour, hungry for their five minutes of fame, would bring up an argument Jeremy had with Elena three years before at a family barbecue.

A stab of guilt pierced her heart and Caroline found herself glancing back at the Gilbert house. Grayson and Miranda stood just inside the doorway, the former's arm around the latter's shoulders. They were shrouded in the shadows, not daring to come out any further, lest they draw the attention of Andie and her furious inquisition. Caroline drew a shallow breath, a lump rising in her throat—the Gilberts, they didn't deserve this.

"Detective Forbes!" Andie trotted forward, her voice suddenly in Caroline's ear as the microphone was pushed against her lips, "What do you have to say about all this?"

With a certain practised elegance, Caroline sidestepped away, "No comment," she said firmly—with an apologetic look that might have seemed genuine were she not so exhausted—rounding the hood of the SUV to the passenger side.

Mildly deterred, Andie huffed out a frustrated sigh and exchanged an exasperated glance with her cameraman, who shrugged. She recovered quickly, however, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, "Jeremy Gilbert! Did you kill your sister?" she demanded, as a last-ditch attempt at securing a juicy quote, her glossy lips puckered up into a serious expression.

Jeremy's eyes grew wide and Caroline watched as his mouth opened, a protest already forming on his tongue—it was only natural, a knee-jerk reaction to such a direct accusation. Mikaelson noticed it too and, assessing the potential damage, took hold of Jeremy's elbow. The effect was like that of a lightning bolt—a jolt passed through Jeremy's body, rousing him from whatever angry trance he'd slipped into and grounding him back to reality.

"Say nothing," Mikaelson hissed at the younger man, as he opened the door to the backseat; Jeremy took the offered escape, clambering inside the vehicle readily.

Caroline opened the door to the passenger side, though she found herself lingering as Andie approached Mikaelson again with a renewed vigour, "Detective Mikaelson, how do you feel this case compares to the Camille O'Connell case? I mean, you have to admit, they're remarkably similar—two beautiful young women, both in the prime of their lives, both brutally murdered. Did you take on this case to secure the justice for Elena's family that you weren't able to secure for Camille's?"

There it was—a crack in the mask. A sliver of anger worked its way into Mikaelson's expression, igniting a spark in his eyes and twisting his lips into a frown, "No comment," he growled, his gaze snapping over to meet Caroline's and, instinctively, she looked away from him, embarrassed at being caught, "Get in the car, Forbes."

She wasted no time in heeding the order, climbing inside as she willed the red flush away from her cheeks. As she fumbled with her seat belt, clicking it into place, a sudden thought occurred to her and she glanced up sharply, meeting Jeremy's gaze in the rear view mirror, "Jeremy," she began, acutely aware of Mikaelson's eyes on her as he slid into the driver's seat beside her, "Did you contact Elena at all on Monday night?"

"No," his features were drawn into a puzzled expression at the question, "Why?"

"You didn't text her or anything?" she pressed, and he shook his head; she exhaled a deep breath, "When Elena left my apartment on Monday night, she said she had to go because you'd text her—she said you had asked her to pick up some things from the store."

"What time was this at?"

Caroline closed her eyes briefly in thought, "Uh, eleven."

"That would've been as I was clocking off, before I—well, you know—but I don't remember any of that," he murmured, almost to himself; there was a series of clicks as he unlocked his phone and accessed his messages, "I didn't send any texts to Elena that night—whoever it was, it wasn't me."

He passed his phone into Caroline, who held it, cradled, in her hands—the last recorded message in the conversation between him and Elena was a reminder, from the latter, regarding their parents' upcoming wedding anniversary, sent two days before her death. Caroline's mind travelled back to the CCTV footage that she and Mikaelson had watched earlier, that showed Elena talking to someone on her cell phone, a grin on her lips and her cheeks aglow with happiness.

_'Yeah, I'm out now_—_I'll be there in a few minutes,' _she'd said—who had she been talking to, if not her brother? And why had she lied?

Mikaelson turned the keys in the ignition, his SUV roaring to life before dying down to a gentle purr. Caroline raised a hand to her lips, watching out the window as the Gilbert house—with Grayson and Miranda still at the door—slipped away from view. The car was silent, though Caroline's mind was whirring, tossing and turning as it was consumed wholly by one thought:

_W__hat were you hiding, Elena?_

:-:

"Jeremy!" Matt exclaimed, standing up from behind his desk as the youngest Gilbert sibling was led into the police station, sandwiched between Caroline and Mikaelson.

Mikaelson ignored him, choosing instead to call over Josh Rosza, who'd been trying (and failing) to look busy by his computer, "Rosza, I want you to take Mr Gilbert down to forensics and collect some DNA samples—I want blood, hair and saliva collected, as well as a set of fingerprints—do you think you can manage that?"

"Yes, sir," Josh replied promptly.

"Good—then I'll be expecting the results of that back as soon as possible," Mikaelson added, sharply.

"What the hell is going on?" Matt whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Caroline, as she came to stand next to him, her arms folded across her chest.

"I'll explain later," she murmured back, as Josh led Jeremy off the main floor.

Mikaelson picked up Elena's case file from where it lay, open, on Matt's desk, flicking through it for any new information that had been added in his absence, "Any word on the missing phone?"

"None—the people we had out looking for it by the Mystic Grill said it came up negative," Matt replied.

"Missing phone?" Caroline echoed, her gaze flashing from Matt to Mikaelson accusingly, "Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"I didn't think it meant much at first—we know we had it when she left your apartment at around eleven," Mikaelson said, sparing Caroline a look, to which she nodded, "Initially I just assumed that it had fallen out of her pocket, perhaps during an altercation between Miss Gilbert and her killer, but if it wasn't found at the scene of the crime—"

"Maybe the murderer took it, as some sort of sick trophy," Matt suggested.

"Or maybe the alleyway wasn't the crime scene," Caroline whispered, glancing up at Mikaelson suddenly; he was staring at her, the gears in his brain working in tandem alongside hers, "What if whoever murdered Elena did it somewhere else and moved her body to the alley to cover their tracks?"

"There's a park near the Mystic Grill, it's right in the town square—it's not very well-lit and there's no CCTV around it, it's a possibility," Matt agreed, nodding.

"Donovan, have your team scout out this park," Mikaelson said, as Matt retook his seat, lifting the phone's receiver to his ear with his finger already poised to dial, "Let me know the second they find something!"

:-:

"So," Matt began at lunch, once they'd exhausted all avenues of small talk—yes, the weather was surprisingly hot today; no, she hadn't seen that news story about a recent political scandal. So far, there'd been no word from the team of forensics scouring the park, they'd detected no sign of Elena's phone or any other evidence for that matter, "Do you really think he did it? Jeremy, I mean," he added needlessly.

Caroline sighed, dropping her gaze to her Greek salad. If it had been anyone other than Matt Donovan asking her, she'd have not-so-politely told them to fuck off, but—as it stood—it was Matt asking her and, if she was honest, she didn't really have an answer for him, "I don't know," she whispered, glancing around the break room; it was relatively empty—apart from the two of them, sitting at a table near the back, Mindy—a junior detective, with less than a year's experience under her belt—was its only other occupant.

"I don't think he did," Matt murmured and Caroline's gaze flashed up to meet his; he shrugged, shaking his head, "I mean, I _know_ we're not supposed to have opinions—we're supposed to look at the evidence, look at the facts—but... I don't know, Care, I just don't think he could have."

"I know," Caroline said, her tone sympathetic as she chose her words carefully, "And I know he's your friend, Matt, but he was on drugs the night that Elena died—he might not have even realized what he was doing at the time."

"Yeah," he agreed sullenly, picking at the crust of his ham and cheese sandwich and scattering the crumbs everywhere, "I guess—I guess I just _hope_ that he didn't do it."

"You and me both," she nodded, pushing her salad away and folding her arms on top of the table's surface, "I mean, you should've seen them today—the Gilberts—they were already so torn up over what happened and then we came in to basically accuse their son. The way they looked at me, Matt, I felt like I was the worst human being in the world."

"You were just doing your job," Matt assured her, his voice low as Mindy got up to leave, her chair scraping noisily across the floor, "I'm sure they understood that, Care."

"I hope so," she mumbled, her head drooping so that her chin was resting on her hands.

"Has there been any word from Katherine?"

"Nope," Caroline said, focusing on keeping her voice at a neutral level.

"Shit," Matt shook his head, lifting his polystyrene cup of coffee to his lips, "That's rough."

"No, that's Katherine—she likes to pretend that the real world doesn't exist."

"Yeah, but _still_. Elena was her sister—she can't be that unfeeling. I don't know..." Matt trailed off thoughtfully and, in return, Caroline cast him a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised quizzically; he met her gaze uncertainly and she watched him take a sip of coffee and swallow it before he continued hesitantly, "I'm just wondering, if maybe—well, have _you_ tried calling her?"

"Me?!" Caroline said incredulously, sitting up straighter in her chair, "You think _I_ should call her?"

"Well, yeah—I mean, she _listens_ to you."

"Yeah, she _used _to," Caroline shot back, picking through her salad idly with her fork, "But we didn't exactly part on the best of terms—I doubt she'd even pick up if I did."

Matt raised his shoulder in a half-shrug, "Yeah, maybe. It was just a thought," he said, wrapping up his abandoned crusts in their saran wrap and tossing them in the bin behind him, "Anyway, I gotta get back to work—I'll talk to you later, Care."

"See you later," she said, with a small smile that faded as soon as he walked out the door, leaving her alone with her uneaten Greek salad.

From the depths of her bag in the seat next to her, her phone buzzed and, fishing it out, she glanced down at the caller ID. Tyler's name—accompanied by a cute snapshot of the two of them last summer, on a picnic in a park somewhere—flashed up, demanding her attention. She watched it for a long moment, as it vibrated insistently against the palm of her hand. In her mind's eye, she could picture Tyler pacing, huffing out a frustrated sigh as his call went unanswered before, finally, he hung up and her phone fell silent. An alert popped up on her cell phone, announcing that she had one new message.

Sliding her finger across the screen, she unlocked her phone and dialled into her voicemail. It wasn't long until his voice reverberated through her ear and her heart twisted guiltily at having ignored his call, "Hi, Care, it's me—obviously. Listen, I was just wondering what time you thought you might be home at for dinner? I was thinking we could get some take-out—Chinese or I think I have a menu for that new Thai place around here somewhere. Or we could even get some sushi—I know that's your favourite."

There was a long pause and she felt for certain that he had forgotten to end his message, before he exhaled a breath and said softly, "Look, I'm not going to pretend I'm not worried about you, so just—just give me a call when you get this, please? I love you."

The message ended and Caroline's finger hovered over his name in her address book, the heart emoji that stood beside it glaring up at her accusingly. Eventually, though, she decided against calling him back—not yet, anyway—and, instead, she scrolled up to another name that she hadn't contacted in so long it may as well have been gathering pixelated dust. Her conversation with Matt rang loudly in her ears. She sucked in a deep breath and took a long slug from her can of Diet Coke, deliberating. She shouldn't do this—no, she _really _shouldn't do this, it wasn't her place to and, for all she knew, this wasn't even her number any more—

Fuck, it was ringing!

Caroline bit the inside of her cheek nervously, her stomach in knots as she waited for the call to go through. What would she even say? The line clicked and Caroline almost hung up when she heard _her _voice, confident to the point of haughty. It took her a split-second to realize that she had reached her voicemail and Caroline wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed as she listened to the recorded message play.

"Hi, you've reached Katherine," Elena's twin was saying, "I can't come to the phone right now. Maybe I'm drunk, maybe I'm in jail or maybe I'm fucking a Calvin Klein model—who knows? Point is, leave me your details and I'll think about getting back to you."

There was a beep and Caroline sucked in a breath, "Hi, Kat, it's—it's Caroline. I'm assuming you've heard about Elena by now and I just—well, I guess I just wanted to see how you were," she paused palpably to wet her lips, "I know you're probably really busy but just—um—call me back when you have the chance, OK? Thanks."

:-:

Caroline only remembered that she had forgotten to ring Tyler back when she let herself into his apartment that evening and was greeted by his earnest grin and a selection of take-out menus. Though she appreciated the gesture—letting her choose dinner—she really didn't care what they ate, her appetite still stubbornly lacking, and so, forcing on a smile, she picked the new Thai place he'd mentioned, knowing that was what he would have preferred.

Half an hour later, they sat side-by-side on his couch, their knees touching and take-out cartons on their laps as the television played faintly in front of them; Tyler had it switched to a rerun of some old sitcom on the furthest channel from the news—and any mention of Elena—but Caroline wasn't really paying attention to it. She was fairly certain she'd seen it before anyway. Instead, her eyes remained downcast as she twirled noodles around her fork absent-mindedly, mumbling out vague replies to Tyler's valiant attempts at conversation.

"So, um, how was work today?" he asked her, clearing his throat, "Do you—Did you find any new leads?"

Caroline glanced up at the question and, putting her carton onto the coffee table, she shook her head, "Tyler, you know I can't discuss that with you."

"C'mon, it's me. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone," he said, "Care, look, I'm not trying to pry—I just want you to know that you can talk to me if you need to."

She shook her head again, more vigorously this time, "I can't."

He stared at her for a long moment, his mouth hanging slightly agape, and she felt certain that he was going to press the issue—but then, he shrugged and turned his attention to his food, scooping up a large forkful and popping it in his mouth, "This is good," he commented neutrally, around a mouthful of rice.

She gave a distant nod, her gaze roaming over to the television where canned laughter dominated the scene. This all felt so... _normal_—watching TV, eating dinner with her boyfriend. Millions of other people were probably doing the same thing, all across the world, but how could she? How could she be doing this, while Elena's killer was still out there, hiding in anonymity? A strange feeling rushed through her and she suddenly couldn't stand the confines of Tyler's apartment. She needed to get out.

Standing abruptly, she said, "I think I'm gonna go to the gym," and made her way towards their bedroom to change.

As she passed him, Tyler stood as well, his brow furrowed, "Well, uh, do you want me to go with you?"

"No," she said quickly—too quickly—and she bit the inside of her cheek, hating herself for dismissing him so harshly—after all, he was only trying to help; she took a deep breath, her features softening, "No, I just want to spend some time alone, to think and stuff. Maybe some other time, though."

He nodded slowly, uncertain, "Do you want me to wait up for you?"

"No, it's okay. I don't know how long I'll be out, and you have work in the morning—I don't want to keep you up," she replied, and he stared at her, wordlessly, for a moment before he retook his seat on the couch and resumed eating his Pad Thai, rather forlornly.

Inside their bedroom, she changed quickly into a pair of yoga pants and an oversized college t-shirt she'd gotten during her days at Whitmore. Throwing her hair up into a messy ponytail, she slipped on her sneakers and scrubbed her face clean of make-up with one of the last few cleansing wipes she had left in her current packet. On her way out, she paused only to grab her earphones and her keys from her handbag and to say a quick goodbye to Tyler when he stood, stopping her and crossing the room until he was right in front of her.

"Look, I—I know you've a lot going on right now and I know you probably think I'm being a pain in the ass, but I'm not—I'm not _trying_ to be. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're one of the strongest people I've ever met but, with what happened to Elena and you working this case, I'm just really worried about you, Care," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

"What are you trying to say, Tyler?" she asked him, her eyes narrowing a fraction.

He huffed out a deep sigh, "Honestly? Honestly, I think that—maybe—it would be a good idea for you to take a step back from this one. You're good at your job, but no-one's that good, Caroline. I dunno, I just think maybe it would be best if someone else worked this case instead of you."

Momentarily struck dumb by his words, Caroline stared at him, opening and closing her mouth soundlessly until she, at last, found her voice, "Excuse me?" she demanded.

Shaking his head, Tyler shrugged, "It's only a suggestion, Care, but c'mon, look at how stressed out you are."

"Oh, my God—_seriously_?! The only reason I'm so 'stressed out' is because I have people like _you_ who keep trying to undermine me all the time," she snapped, her hands clenching into angry fists by her sides, "I mean, first there's Mikaelson—

"Who?" Tyler asked, his face screwed up in confusion.

"Klaus Mikaelson—the stupid, smug _douchebag _who took _my _job," Caroline said, well aware of the vein she could feel, throbbing in her left temple, "He's the co-lead on Elena's case with me."

"Wait—you have Klaus Mikaelson working with you now? As in _Niklaus Mikaelson_—the one from the Camille O'Connell case?" Tyler blew out a low impressed whistle, "Shit, Care, he's _really_ good."

"Yeah, so I've heard," she retorted scathingly, turning to the door.

"But, _wait_!" he called out, one hand outstretched towards her, "I mean, Care—if this guy is as good as everyone says he is, maybe... maybe it'd be best if you just left him to it? I mean, you'd be leaving it in capable hands—he'd probably have it solved in no time and it might save you some serious stress. C'mon, you _know_ you should be spending your time with your Mom and with Bonnie right now, not—not running around all day, digging into your best friend's murder."

Caroline blinked, unable to believe what she was hearing. Her eyes were sad when she finally looked at him over her shoulder, "You just don't get it, do you, Tyler?" she asked him, shaking her head when he still looked dumbfounded; her fingers curled around the knob to the front door of the apartment, "Don't wait up for me, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

"Care—" Tyler tried, but it was too late—she was already gone.

:-:

When Caroline arrived at the gym, at a little after nine o'clock, she was relieved to find it relatively empty, savouring the peace that such a setting promised her. After buying an overpriced bottle of water at a vending machine, she mounted the treadmill that was the most out of the way of the main floor and set it to a low speed to warm up her muscles while she untangled her earphones and, eventually, popped them in. As the dulcet tones of Ed Sheeran reverberated against her eardrums, she increased the speed to a medium setting, her leisurely gait slipping easily into a steady jog.

Her index finger jabbed at the speed again and she felt the belt quicken beneath her sneakered feet, her mind whirring as she ran, reviewing the last couple of days. She was promoted, she was demoted. Elena was alive, Elena was dead. Elena had quit her job, two weeks ago—why? Bonnie had been dating Jeremy, Jeremy had a drug problem, Jeremy had fallen off the wagon, the crucial hours of Monday night lost by him to a cocaine-filled haze. Until they were retrieved from the depths of his mind, Jeremy was at a loss.

Caroline huffed out a puff of air harshly. No matter what, things didn't look good for him. Even if he was found innocent of murder, he still risked serious jail time for possession, though perhaps his status as a first time offender—combined with his attempts to get clean—would mean a probation instead, with mandatory involvement in a narcotics program. Dragging a hand across her brow, wiping away the thin sheen of perspiration that had gathered there, she tried to focus on the rhythm of her footsteps, the soles of her sneakers pounding down hard on the treadmill.

One, two, three, four—_breathe_.

One, two, three, four—_breathe_.

One, two, three, four—_breathe_.

But, still, her mind wandered, her work-out not nearly distracting enough. She'd spent the entire day thinking about Elena—about why she'd quit her job, about the mysterious phone call—and she was still yet to find an answer. Keeping secrets, hiding things, that wasn't like her—Elena, for the most part, was an open book. Hell, when she'd had her first date with Stefan, all those years ago, she had called Caroline almost the second it was over and the two had spent the rest of the night discussing it in great detail, deciphering every action, pondering every word.

What had changed, then? What was it that Elena felt she couldn't tell her?

Was there someone else—another guy, perhaps? No, Caroline dismissed the thought almost instantly, Elena had loved Stefan too much to hurt him in that way.

Had she been pregnant? That was a greater possibility, though she'd drank at least half a bottle of wine at Caroline's apartment, on the night she'd died.

She ran until her legs ached, her muscles crying out as she abruptly stopped the machine. Dismounting, she retrieved her water bottle and drank from it deeply, the plastic crackling loudly beneath her fingertips. Her cell phone lay on top of her gym bag and, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside it, she grabbed it, scrolling through the notifications that had pinged up during her work-out. While there was still no return call from Katherine—was she hurt or relieved by that? Her mind (or was it her heart?) still wasn't certain—there was a text from her phone company, reminding her that her monthly bill was due soon, as well as a Snapchat sent to her by a girl—Megan... King? Yeah, that was it—that she'd been semi-friendly with in college.

Curious, she took another sip from her water bottle and clicked into the Snap. Ultimately, it was nothing groundbreaking—in fact, it was a rather generic shot of Megan dressed up nicely and sandwiched in between two girls Caroline didn't know, drinks in hand, preparing to go for a boozy night out—but, still, she found a lump growing thickly in the back of her throat. As the seconds ran out and the photograph disappeared forever, Caroline actually found herself wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

That used to be her—her and Bonnie and Elena. They used to go out, they used to drink and they used to dance to whatever pop songs the DJ was playing, they used to meet up for greasy breakfasts the morning after, bemoaning their hangovers and pledging to never, _ever_ drink again. Caroline sighed, running a hand across her face—as much as she wanted to find Elena's killer, she had to admit there were times, over the past few days, when she'd caught herself hoping that the case would draw out, lasting weeks or maybe even months, because the thought of what came after—of living with a gaping hole in her life, where someone she had loved _so much _once was—terrified her more than she ever thought possible.

"Well, well. I didn't imagine I'd be seeing you here, Detective Forbes," a horribly familiar voice said and she felt the muscles of her back tense.

She got to her feet in what she hoped looked like a single, effortless movement—elegant and poised, despite the screaming ache in her calves—and turned to face him, her features already adopting a look of distaste as she eyed his attire critically—alright, enviously. With a water bottle held slack in his left hand, Klaus Mikaelson was wearing a set of overly expensive work-out clothes, his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt stamped smugly with a designer logo. He regarded her with his eyebrows raised in a mildly quizzical expression, the corner of his mouth pulled up into its usual smirk.

She waited expectantly for him to say something else, a barbed quip attached on smoothly to the end of his greeting—

(Perhaps something like: _"Not keeping up with the Kardashians tonight, are we?"_

To which she'd smartly reply: _"Nope, that's only on Sundays, asshole."_)

—but, admittedly to her surprise, none came. He just kept looking at her, as though anticipating something, a furrow appearing suddenly in his brow and, with a start, she realized that he was waiting for _her _to say something. Her mouth ran dry and she cringed inwardly at herself—_oh shit_, how long had she been staring at him?

Clearing her throat, she said the first thing that came to mind and hoped it sounded clever, "Why? It's not like it's only Detective Sergeants that need to work out," she shot back, before gritting her teeth—that it had definitely come out pettier than she intended.

In response, Mikaelson gave a short laugh, trailing off gradually into a half-smile that, despite her comment, seemed a degree or so warmer than the Smirk of Arrogance she'd come to loathe, "I suppose it's refreshing to see that you're this charming both in and out of the workplace," he said and she rolled her eyes at him.

"What do you want?" she asked shortly, as she stooped down to retrieve her water bottle.

"I just wanted to say hello," he remarked, with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"OK, well, bye!" she said, shouldering her gym bag and pushing past him.

She'd only managed to advance three steps—maximum—before she heard his voice again, calling her back, "Forbes!" he tried, though she stubbornly ignored him, taking another rebellious step away from him, "Caroline."

_That _startled her into stopping. Not just the use of her first name—rarely used by his lips though, she had to admit, it did sound sort of nice, wrapped up in a smooth British accent—but the tone with which he'd said it. She could detect no arrogance within it, no attempt at exerting his superiority over her—no, it was quiet, almost gentle. She turned to face him, fingers curled tightly around the strap of her gym bag and one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"What?" she asked him shortly—why, oh why, could he not just leave her alone?

"I just wanted to talk to you about earlier," he began and, immediately, she bristled defensively, a spike of anger flaring up from deep inside her—no doubt, she had made some sort of misstep earlier, unnoticed by her but unforgivable by him, which he was about to use as an argument against her professionalism, "I thought—"

She exhaled a breath sharply, her nostrils flaring harshly, "No—look—if you're going to criticize me for... _whatever _it was you think I did today, can you just not? I mean, can't it wait until tomorrow at least? I've—It's been kind of a long day," she said, the words sounding wearier than she had intended, her fatigue surprising even her. Inwardly, she groaned—great, that was another weapon Mikaelson had to utilize in his arsenal against her.

Caroline braced herself, waiting for that stupid, smug smirk to light up his features, but it remained strikingly absent. Instead, he exhaled an almost inaudible sigh, glancing around them for any sign of eavesdroppers, before he closed the distance between them, "I just wanted you to know that I thought you did a good job today. It can't have been easy for you—interviewing your best friend and Jeremy Gilbert—but I felt that you handled the situation very well."

Unbidden, she felt the beginnings of a hot flush heat the nape of her neck, threatening to creep up onto her cheeks, "Oh. Well, um, thank you."

Clearing his throat, Mikaelson looked away for a split-second and then his stormy blue gaze met hers again, their intensity striking, "It seems that I may have underestimated you, Forbes," he said and she blinked rapidly—_was this real life_, she thought wildly—as he continued, "And, for that, I apologize. Excuse me."

He took a step back and walked past her without another word. Caroline shook her head and released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding as she tried to process the exchange that had just taken place. Whipping around dizzily, she called out to him before he was out of earshot.

"Caroline," she said to him, "You can call me Caroline—you know, if you wanted."

A corner of his mouth pulled up into a small half-smile, "Klaus," he replied simply, "I'll see you tomorrow, Caroline."

And, with that, he was gone.

:-:

If she was honest, Caroline wasn't surprised to find Tyler awake and waiting for her when she got home; he was watching _South Park_, socked feet propped up on the coffee table and his fingers curled around a bottle of beer that had half the label picked off of it. Swallowing thickly, she dumped her gym bag by the door and, a tad sheepishly, rounded the couch to sit beside him, though still leaving a sliver of space between them. He didn't say anything, only acknowledging her with a brief glance before he returned his attention to the TV, huffing out an amused chuckle as the green-hatted boy said something particularly scathing to his friend in the red coat.

"Tyler," she tried eventually, "Tyler, I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier—I know you were only trying to help."

He waited a moment, a worrying silence stretching out between them, before: "I know you may feel like I'm being—I dunno—_overbearing_, I guess, but it's only because I'm worried about you, Caroline," he said, though still he refused to meet her gaze.

"Yeah, I know," she assured him, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

"I mean, you just lost one of your best friends and I'm trying my best to help you deal with it—"

"Tyler—_I know_," she said, with conviction, "And you've been _so great_. I mean, I honestly don't know where I'd be if it hadn't been for you these past couple of days."

Brown eyes met green as he finally turned his head to look at her, "You mean that?"

"Of course! Tyler, you've been amazing," she said, playing fondly with a lock of hair by his ear, before, swallowing, she continued, "But that doesn't mean I'm giving up on this case—and, _no_, it's not about my pride or anything like that. It's—Well, it's about Elena, you know? I feel like I owe it to her and to her family."

He was quiet, his gaze dropping down to the bottle clasped between his hands until, eventually, he looked up at her again, "Yeah," he said, softly, "Yeah, I know. I don't know what I was thinking, actually, saying that to you—I mean, you're Caroline Forbes, there's nothing you don't see through once you've set your mind to it."

He grinned at her and she leaned in, covering the distance between them, to press a kiss first to his cheek, then to his lips, "I love you—you know that, right?" she whispered, smiling up at him from where her chin rested on his shoulder.

"I know," he replied, dropping a kiss onto her forehead.

"So," she said, shifting slightly in her seat so that she sat against him, his arm draped around her shoulders, her hand on his thigh, "Which episode is this?"

Tyler gave her a look of mock horror, "You've never seen this one before?" he asked her and she shook her head, "Aw, Care, it's _so good_."

She shot him a smile, "Alright, well, shut up and let me watch it, then," she said, giving him an affectionate nudge with her elbow.

As she settled back into the plush comfort of Tyler's couch, plucking the bottle of beer from her boyfriend's hand to take a hearty sip from it, Caroline actually felt a strange feeling stir in the pit of her stomach. It was not quite contentment, but—still, in spite of everything—it wasn't that far from it. She rested her head against Tyler's shoulder, his body warm against hers, and allowed herself to bask in the feeling for however long it lasted.

:-:

_Well, well. I managed to slip in a reference to South Park and some Katholine. For those of you that don't know, I have recently become a big Katholine shipper - to the point where I love it almost as much as Klaroline - and I really wanted to incorporate it into a story and I just thought: 'Hey, what about this one?'_

_Anyway, as always, reviews are much appreciated! Until next time! x_


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